


Twined Like Barbed Wire

by Muccamukk



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Chemical Weapons, Confessions, Drinking to Cope, Episode: s01e05 Crossroads, Eventual Happy Ending, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fake Science, Guilt, M/M, Memory Loss, On the Run, Pining, Self-Indulgent, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-01-05 02:56:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 39,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21206261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/pseuds/Muccamukk
Summary: When Bull and Johnny are exposed to an experimental chemical, the night or passion they spend together is only the beginning of their journey.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Thrillingdetectivetales who said, back in August, "if you do a sex pollen of one pairing I’ll trade you a sex pollen of another pairing." The results got a little out of hand. I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not.
> 
> The consent issues are pretty heavy on this one, where the characters probably would _not_ have had sex without outside influence, and there is a good deal of angst, guilt and discussion of consent. It's all pretty tropey stuff, but this is your heads up.

_Careful now, Johnny_, was what Bull wanted to say, but instead he chewed the end of his cigar and kept his peace. He wished Johnny would trust one of the replacements, or better yet let Hoobler or Bull run recon for him, but the damn fool had to see everything for himself.

So Bull hung back and watched, peering forward through the pissing rain that kept dripping off his helmet, and tried to make out the a figure in olive drab worming his way forward through the mud. It was some small comfort that if Bull couldn't see much of Johnny from twenty yards back, then the Germans likely couldn't see him either. Though what the hell Peacock expected Johnny to be able discover was beyond Bull. You couldn't tell officers nothing.

That was fine. Johnny could look over the hill, say he couldn't see nothing, with no word of it being a lie. After that, they could wrap up this farce of a patrol, and tuck back into their nice warm barn. Another hour, if that, and they'd be drinking coffee and trying to wring their socks out.

A flash lit the dusk, making Bull cover his eyes instinctively. Before he could see again, the too-familiar sound of Johnny Martin crying out in pain pulled him forward. Bull was out of his cover, running low to the ground before he had a chance to think about what he was doing. It hadn't sounded like a mine, not loud enough, and it wasn't a rifle shot either, more like a flash grenade. Bull's brain tried to fit the sound to a known threat even as he ran, even as he heard Johnny moaning and cursing up a blue streak. He sounded hurt, but how hurt, Bull couldn't tell. Not dying, he didn't think. He knew too well by now the kinds of sounds a man made when he was dying.

Bull dropped to Johnny's side just as the first German rifle shots started chewing up the ground beside him. There wasn't enough damn time to see what was the matter with Johnny. Bull caught an impression of something wrong with Johnny's face, before he grabbed him, threw him over his shoulder and humped back towards the guys. Johnny kept kicking Bull's back, but that just could be him hating being carried. Ahead of Bull, Christensen opened up with his MG, laying down enough cover fire to keep the Germans back and light up their position half way to Berlin.

That wasn't Bulls problem. Bull's problem was that when he got back to the ditch they'd all been huddling in and dumped Johnny on the ground, his best friend was still screaming and clawing at his face. There was something wrong with him, and Bull couldn't see through the rain and lowering daylight to what it was. He screamed for a medic and got Ralph Spina a second later.

"Can't see, dammit," Spina muttered, and pulled out his flashlight. He panned it over Johnny's face, showing a viscous substance that Bull hoped to god wasn't from Johnny's insides. "What the hell..."

Peacock had come over by then, popping up from the middle of unorganising the defence of their ditch, or whatever the hell it was he was trying to get first platoon to do. He started to ask how Johnny was, then stopped and slapped Spina's hand away just before he wiped at the slime on Johnny's face. "Don't touch him," Peacock snapped, voice even higher with alarm than usual. "Don't touch either of them."

"Sir," Bull started, showing, he thought, a good deal of restraint, "Sir, what in the hell..."

Peacock was already gesturing at Bull, and when Bull looked down, he realised that the yellow slime was covering his hands and the shoulders of his uniform as well. It must have been all over Johnny when Bull picked him up.

Peacock was as pale as a sheet in the dimness, but he pulled himself together. Hoobler and Grant were getting all the boys in line, and and Bull could hear Luz on the radio already, calling back to the Company HQ, leaving Peacock to deal with just the injured men and the medic he didn't want to help them. "It might be a chemical attack," Peacock said.

"Like mustard gas?" Bull asked, thinking of his uncle Davis, and how his lungs had given out after he'd come home in '18. He'd slowly faded into nothing, one cough at at time. His hands tightened on Johnny's jacket. That couldn't happen to Johnny. Bull didn't know how he'd stop it, but he would. "Or phosgene?"

"Sir, it's not..." Spina was starting to stay, but they needed to get out of there, and Bull wasn't leaving Johnny. He picked Johnny up again. He wasn't kicking as hard now. His body twitched against Bull, boots hitting Bull's back only spasmodically.

For a moment his eyes met Peacock's and Bull didn't know what to do, but Peacock just nodded. "Don't take him into the CP. You're both quarantined!" Peacock told him, then turned back to the line. "Spina, go with him!"

It was a twenty minute jog through the rain back to the rest of the company. Bull put his head down and focused on speed, not anything else was happening, or might happen. They'd both been exposed, but to what? Bull didn't want to think what might happen. Spina was quiet as the grave. All those lectures about what chemical agents could do to a man. All those gas mask drills, and the awful "chemical-proof" jumpsuits that no one wore after day one...

Johnny hadn't even had a chance to put on his mask.

When he got near the barn that housed Easy's CP, Bull hesitated, but he couldn't see anywhere else to put Johnny, and he couldn't leave him out in the rain. Bull kept going for the barn, thinking of that big table where he could lay Johnny down. Winters would understand, and he could talk sense into their Looie later.

The barn door just about hit Bull as it burst outward. Welsh and most of second platoon were heading out to reinforce Peacock, and Bull could hear Winters snapping orders into the radio.

Bull would just set Johnny down and head back to his boys. The whole line would be a shambles, and Bull knew that the captain would tear a strip off Peacock when he had the chance, but he was just glad to get Johnny laid down in the light so that the doc could get a proper look at him.

Spina had Garcia holding up a lantern, while he emptied his canteen over Johnny's face. Johnny was spluttering against the water, which sounded just fine to Bull. At least he was breathing. Bull had wondered for a minute there.

The stuff was washing off onto the table, leaving Johnny's face scorch-marked but undamaged underneath it. Bull tightened his hands on Johnny's shoulders and tried not to think about Johnny being able to see. His grey eyes were open and staring, but Bull couldn't tell if they were following anything or not. Spina was trying to get Johnny to follow his hand by waving it back and forth, and if Johnny didn't come to and smack him, Bull was considering doing it for him.

"What's wrong with him?" Winters demanded, coming up behind him. "Luz reported a chemical attack. Was it gas?"

"Some kind of flashbang, Captain," Bull said. His eyes kept following Spina's hand. There was something hypnotic about it. He realised his head was shaking back and forth and made himself stop moving. The barn felt like it was tipping like a ship at sea. "Martin walked into, sir, got stuff all over him. I did too," he admitted.

"Stuff?" Winters demanded.

"We're not sure, sir," Spina said.

Bull held out his hands and shrugged. In the lamplight, the slimy liquid had a shine to it like spilled gasoline. It was spreading across the table and down to the floor.

"Lieutenant Peacock said it, sir. About the chemical attack, I mean," Spina added. "I think he knew what it was. Luz didn't say anything, sir?"

"Just that," Winters started to say, then some kind of penny dropped because he took half a step back and said with considerable feeling, "Dammit!"

"Sir?" Bull asked, about the same time as Spina.

"Clear the building!" Winters was shouting. "Easy Company, fall in outside, you have thirty seconds. Lipton, get them moving!"

"Sir," Bull persisted. "Sir. What's the matter with Johnny?"

Spina reaching down to pull back Johnny's eyelids almost got lost in the thunder of boots as the company followed orders, but Winters saw him, and closed his hand around Spina's wrist.

"We got a note from G2 yesterday," Winters said. "They think the krauts have a new weapon, some kind of chemical they're distributing. It spreads by skin contact."

Bull felt the barn sway again, but he wasn't sure if it was the shock or whatever Winters was talking about working away at him already. Less than half an hour had passed since Johnny had been exposed, but some of those things, they were meant to hit you right away.

"What does it do, sir?" Spina demanded, sounding pissed that the medics had to hear about this from the officers.

Winters hesitated. The barn had fallen silent, every man and even Talbert's dog pulled outside. Bull turned to look, and Winters had his chin up and his hands bunched into fists at his side. He wanted something to hit, or a rifle in his hands, but he couldn't fight a chemical, and he knew it. "G2 said they don't know," Winters said. "It's new. Maybe just a rumour. Seems like it makes men lose control, maybe start seeing things."

They all three looked at Johnny, who was moaning, eyes closed now, and then at Bull, who, though he didn't have a face full of the stuff, had it all over his hands and neck, and his uniform had soaked through to the skin long before Johnny had crawled out of that ditch.

"Lose control?" Bull asked. He didn't like the sound of that. How much damage could a paratrooper do if he suddenly turned on his fellows, or started seeing enemies when they weren't there? He felt his stomach churning, more so when he realised that Winters hadn't only been getting the others away from the chemicals now spilled all over the table and floor. Winters had been getting the company away from Bull and Johnny.

Winters shook his head and looked Bull in the eye. "We don't know," he said. "I'm going to put a call into G2, see what I can find out. In the meantime, I'm going to need your weapons. Both of you."

He found a bit of canvas to wrap their M1's in, and Bull put their grenades and boot knives in as well. Johnny had that damn Lugar still, so Bull tossed that in as well, hoping that Johnny woke up and was himself enough to tear a strip off Bill for giving the damn thing away.

Bull put his hand on Johnny's forehead. He felt warm, despite the rain, and Bull didn't know if that was good or bad. He wanted his rifle back, just to be able to hold it.

"Better get him out of those clothes," Winters said, and Bull knew that he was being given something to do, something to keep his mind off what might happen.

Still, Bull worked at the buttons of Johnny's jacket, which stuck in wet fabric. If he could get the clothes off him, maybe whatever had soaked into them wouldn't hurt them so much. He focused on freeing each button, then at sliding the suspenders off Johnny's shoulders. Bull had to half prop him up to get that done, and he moved too easily, like a man freshly dead, when the stiffness hadn't yet set in. He was still breathing. Bull could hear the sound of Johnny's breaths in his ears as he held him against his chest.

Bull blinked. Why was he cradling Johnny's limp body against his chest? Winters had ordered him to help Johnny. Bull looked up at Winters. He could feel the fear tensing his face, the way it clawed at his throat and made his eyes too wide. He didn't want to look like that in front of his captain.

He didn't like the expression on Winters' face much either. Garcia had left the lamp on the table, and the light caught the paleness of Winters' skin under days of dirt and greasepaint. He had that softness in his eyes that Bull had seen him wear when when of his man had shattered his nerves or his skull or both. Bull had told Johnny once that he didn't want Winters to ever look at him like that, not when it usually meant the end.

"We're all right," Bull said, even though he didn't believe it any more than Winters did. At the same time, he didn't feel like killing anything. Unless Winters trapped in compassion and Spina frozen in horror beside him were ghosts, he wasn't seeing anything strange. It was as though the world had grown closer and more focused, as it did in drink or combat, but not as though he wanted to kill. Bull pulled Johnny closer to his chest, which seemed important. The first thing was that he had to make sure he was all right.

"Doc," Winters said. His mouth was moving. Bull watched it closely, because the words didn't quite seem to sync with what he was saying, like in the movies where they made one actor talk over another. "Doc," Winters said again, "you'd better go. Tell Sergeant Lipton I'll be out in a minute."

"Yes, sir," Spina said.

Bull's head snapped around. He'd forgotten that Spina could talk, or maybe that he was there. He pulled Johnny tighter. People shouldn't go around talking all of a sudden like that, startling the wits out of a fellow. It was okay though, because Spina went away, and Bull couldn't see him any more.

"Randleman?" Winters asked. He put out a hand like he wanted to touch Bull's shoulder, but let it drop before he did.

"Sir?" Bull's voice felt heavy and slow in his ears.

"Can you put Serge... can you put Johnny down for me?"

Bull supposed that would be all right. He was meant to be taking Johnny's clothes off anyway. He got Johnny out of his jacket, sending it thudding to the floor because Johnny always had too much crap in his pockets. A grenade he'd missed rolled through the hay and thudded against the edge of a crate. Johnny's undershirt ripped a bit as Bull wrestled it over his head. Bull would hear about that later.

When Bull had Johnny laid back on the table, his eyes had opened, and he was staring up at Bull with a fixed expression. His grey eyes had turned dark, and Bull couldn't read the expression in them. He looked at Johnny's parted lips and wanted to kiss them, in front of Winters and everything, but that was nothing new.

Winters, who'd been standing back from the flung clothes, stepped in and waved his hand in front of Johnny's face. This time Johnny tracked his hand for a moment, then turned his attention back on Bull.

"Think he's seeing things?" Bull asked. What did Johnny see when he looked at Bull now? What did he ever see when he looked at Bull. Not what Bull wanted, that was for sure.

"I don't know," Winters said. He was trying to stand tall and true for his men, but Bull could hear the anxiety in his voice, hell he could almost smell it. It wouldn't take much to push Winters up against the barn doors and show him what it _really_ meant to be anxious. Only, Bull couldn't rightly say where that thought had come from. He didn't want to hurt his CO, never had. "How are you feeling, Sergeant?" Winters asked.

"Don't know, sir," Bull told him honestly. "Head's starting to feel all funny, like."

"Funny how?" Winters pressed, but Bull didn't have an answer.

Instead of saying anything, he started to work at Johnny's belt. He still had his rig on, with pouches of ammo and first aid kits everywhere—one for him, a couple extra to look after his guys—and all of it was getting in the way of Bull's clumsy fingers. He could field strip and M1 in seconds, but he couldn't seem to get Johnny's fly open. It took him a few moments to see that Johnny's cock was as hard as wrought iron, and Bull's hands all over his pants weren't making it better.

Bull stepped back. "Sir?" he said, a little uncertainly.

"Cap'in" Johnny rasped, and their eyes snapped to him. Johnny's body had started to shake, mostly just his fingers and toes, but it ran though the whole of him every few seconds. "Cap'in Winners," Johnny tried again, voice a thread pulled to breaking point.

"I'm here, Sergeant," Winters said. He looked like he wanted to hold Johnny's hand, but he settled for stepping in and leaning down a little.

Bull didn't like how close Winters was. It felt like he was going to ruin this between them or maybe that Johnny would see Winters and want him instead of Bull. Everyone thought that Dick Winters was the best man in the company, if not the battalion. Who wouldn't want him? Bull's hands spread out across Johnny's hips, both holding him for himself and pinning him to the table. Johnny wasn't anyone's except Bull's.

"What do you need, son?" Winters asked, hovering a little too close.

Johnny reached up and held onto Bull's collar. His hands were shaking and it took him a couple of grabs, but once he got it, Bull knew he wouldn't be able to pry him off without hurting him. Bull stroked Johnny's thigh, trying to reassure him, to tell Johnny that Bull was there and that Johnny belonged to him. It would be all right.

"Bull?" Johnny sounded like he wasn't sure.

"Hey now," Bull crooned. He kept stroking Johnny's leg. "Hey now, Johnny, I'm here. You're all right. Everything's gonna be all right."

Johnny shifted restlessly under Bull's hands. His hips jerked up and he tried to pull Bull down towards him. His grip was strong enough that Bull had to brace one hand on the table. Johnny's chest was heaving, damp skin gleaming in the lamplight. Bull had never seen eyes that dark. "Bull," Johnny moaned. "Bull... I need..."

Winters was saying something, but Bull didn't care. Johnny needed him. He could feel himself getting hard in response. "I've got you, Johnny," he said. "Tell me what you need."

"Oh, God, Bull!" Johnny yanked down with enough force that the shoulder seams of Bull's shirt ripped out, and Johnny ended up with a handful of collar. He held it to his chest for a moment, like a child with a favourite blanket, then his arms were around Bull's neck, fingers slipping on his skin until they locked in place. "Bull, please. You hafta help me."

"Sergeant," Winters said, voice sharp enough to cut through the fog in Bull's head.

"Sir?" Bull shook his head hard and tried to straighten, but he couldn't with Johnny holding onto him. He turned towards Winters as best he could only to find his captain had gone pale. Something was wrong with the officers. Peacock had looked like that too.

"Sergeant Randleman," Winters said, "Don't you think you should put Johnny down? Let the medics look after him?"

He was trying to be kind. That was the voice he used when someone was holding onto a buddy who'd already died. Bull wasn't going to put up with that.

"Johnny's not dead!" Bull snapped. His grip on Johnny's thighs tightened, and Johnny moaned approvingly. "I just need to take care of him."

Officers clearly didn't understand about this kind of thing, how if a buddy asked for something, you had to give it to them, no matter what.

Johnny shifted in Bull's grip, and Bull couldn't keep a hold of his wet uniform pants. Johnny pulled himself up around Bull's neck and wrapped his legs around Bull's hips so that he was clinging upside down to him like some kind of monkey. His dick rubbed against Bull's stomach, while Bull's bushed Johnny's ass. Bull groaned. It felt like nothing to hold them both up like this, but he wanted more, and to do that, he needed his hands free.

"Johnny." Bull didn't know what to say after that, so he kissed Johnny. Winters was shouting at him now, but that didn't matter, because kissing Johnny was the best thing Bull had ever done. He'd wanted to do it for so long, guiltily imagined doing it alone in his bunk with his hand on his dick, but this was so much better. Johnny's skin was hot enough to steam off the rain, and his broad lips opened under Bull's. Their stubble scraped together as Bull caught the back of Johnny's head and hauled him in closer. They were breathing as one, moaning against each other. Johnny's naked chest rubbed against Bull's half-torn shirt, and their hips rocked together as Johnny rutted against him.

Bull was holding them both up with the one arm planted on the table, half bent over. He felt like he would fall if Johnny kept wriggling like that, and that might hurt him, especially if Bull fell on top of him.

Johnny broke free of the kiss and buried his face in Bull's neck. His arms were still wrapped around Bull's like a steel cables, and Bull didn't think that he wanted to get free.

"Bull," Johnny said, voice hoarse like he'd been screaming orders all day. "Bull, please, you gotta fuck me."

Bull felt vaguely that Winters wouldn't like that kind of language, but when he looked up, Winters was gone. That was good. He had Johnny all to himself. It would be safe to put Johnny down for just a second, long enough to get his pants off.

Bull kissed Johnny's sopping hair and leaned down so that the table could take their weight. "All right," he said. "Just let go for a space, and I'll help you."

Johnny whined at that, and clung hard, but Bull's words seemed to sink in, and he relaxed his grip after a final grind of his hips.

"That's right," Bull said. He was careful not to bump Johnny's head when he set it down. It didn't feel right to be letting him go, but he couldn't see any other way about it. It only took him a few seconds to pull the ripped ODs over his head and his undershirt with it. His bootlaces were wet and he almost cut them off before he managed to get the knots undone. Finally he was naked, his clothes in a muddled pile on top of Johnny's.

"Fuck!" Johnny snarled, making Bull turn back to him. Johnny had tried to get his pants off over his boots, which didn't work with bloused trousers, and now everything was a tangled mess around his ankles. Bull had wanted to feel those ankles around his waist like they were before, but he could improvise. He needed to think what to use. He needed to think.

Bull couldn't see much in the lamplight, but one of the guys had left his musette bag on a hay bale. Bull turned it upside down and shook it until he found a tube of of shaving cream. His hands were shaking so bad that it took a few tries to screw the cap off, then he had it all over his hands, and Johnny was still lying on his back kicking at his pants. His cock stood up like a flag poll, and Bull thought what'd be like to pin him down and ride him hard. Only Johnny had asked to be fucked.

"Bull," Johnny called. He gave up on his pants and reached out for Bull. "Come on, Bull!"

"All right," Bull muttered. He was doing the best he could. He stepped back over to the table and picked Johnny up again. His fingers were slippery and he almost dropped him until he got his hand locked around his wrist. Johnny hung on around Bull's neck and started kissing him again, which felt so nice that Bull almost forgot what he was doing. He wished he could just hold Johnny and kiss him until the world ended, but his cock had started to ache, and he needed more than just rubbing off against Johnny's thighs.

Bull backed them both up off the table, and flipped Johnny over so that his chest was flat on the wood and his legs were hanging off the end. He had to stand on his toes to reach the floor, and his pants were still tangled around his ankles. Bull didn't care. he could see the muscled lines of Johnny's thighs and the curve of his ass. Johnny grabbed the edges of the table to brace himself, and his shoulder muscles bunched and jumped. His whole body seemed to rise and fall with each breath, and his skin was slick from the rain.

"Bull, for Christ's sake," Johnny whined. He was rutting against the table now, his ass jerking back and forth as he tried to find something soft to thrust into. "Goddammit, I need you. Bull, please."

The whole world narrowed down to Johnny in the lamplight. Bull had to close his eyes for a moment, because Winters had said he might see things, and this was too much like one of his fantasies. Here was Johnny Martin spread out and ready for him, _begging_ Bull to take him. They were both too hard to think straight.

Bull didn't know what to say, so he found the shaving cream again, which had been half squeezed out by now, and covered Johnny's ass and his fingers. It was cold to the touch, but Bull liked the slickness, and Johnny's skin was burning up anyway. Bull rubbed his hands all over Johnny's ass, down his thighs, up over the small of his back. He couldn't seem to touch him enough.

Johnny bucked back against Bull's hands until Bull shoved a finger into him. That made Johnny freeze up for a second, and Bull worried that he'd been too rough, but when he stopped moving, Johnny swore and then begged. Bull didn't know if he had the mind to do much for Johnny. He wanted to take him now, while he still could, but he told himself that Johnny needed Bull to look after him. That was all Bull needed to do, take care of Johnny. He focused of the feel of Johnny's ass clenching around his finger and tried not to think about how much his cock needed to feel that too. Johnny was pleading for more, in a steady stream of incoherency, and Bull wanted to give him just that, to fuck him hard against the table, but he made himself slow.

Time stretched like taffy as Bull added a finger and worked Johnny open. He had to put his other hand on the small of Johnny's back to hold him flat to the table, but that was okay too. It let him feel the heat of Johnny's skin and how hard he was breathing. It felt good to know that Johnny wanted Bull this badly, that he'd risk being fucked raw by him, that he trusted Bull not to hurt him.

Bull could never hurt Johnny. He worked his hand in and out of him, spreading and adding fingers, adding almost all of the shaving cream, until Johnny was quivering under him, almost crying with how much he needed Bull. Bull could feel the lust burning through his body, but he knew that he had to hold on just a little longer. He told himself that he could have what he wanted, just in a pace, like delaying the best part of a meal.

Finally, Bull pulled his fingers out of Johnny's ass and wiped them on his own hip. He wanted to be able to hold onto Johnny without his grip slipping. It was very important that Johnny stay where he was and not go anywhere else. When he had a good hold on Johnny's hips, he carefully started to push his cock inside him. Johnny's ass felt better than all the dreams Bull had every had. He was slick and warm around Bull, and his he kept clenching tighter. The way his ankles were trapped, he could only open his legs so wide, and the extra tightness was the sweetest thing Bull had ever felt. He rested for a moment with just the head of his cock inside Johnny, picturing what it'd be like to fuck him.

"Goddammit, Bull," Johnny snarled, "Hurry up." He pushed his ass back towards Bull, and Bull was happy to let him help. He was a big man, and he didn't think Johnny had taken someone as large as him before—a small part of him curled up in fury at the idea that anyone had taken Johnny before, even Johnny's wife—so Bull tried to go slow. The problem was that once he started to sink into Johnny, once the writhing heat and constant pressure started to surround his cock, Bull didn't think he could stop.

Johnny cried out in what Bull hoped was pleasure and tried to spread his legs wider. Bull held his hips down and inched forward. He could see Johnny's knuckles whitening where they gripped the edges of the table, and how Johnny lay open-mouthed and gasping underneath him, and Bull wanted to make him feel all that and more. Bull pushed until his balls touched the backs of Johnny's thighs, and his hips pressed into Johnny's ass. He had to know what Johnny felt like when he pulled out, so he did, and the slow drag as Johnny squeezed down and tried to hold them together only felt better when Bull did it a second time, and a third.

Sweat was steaming down Bull's body and dripping onto Johnny's back and ass. Bull watched the drops fall and imagined that they'd mark Johnny somehow. He started to thrust faster. He wished he'd taken the time to get Johnny's legs free, because seeing him on his back, seeing his _face_ would be pure heaven. Bull wanted to see every expression, how Johnny looked when Bull fingered him open, the shape Johnny's mouth made when Bull entered him, if there was any pain in his eyes, or if this only felt good like it did for Bull.

Bull kept thrusting, but he leaned down so that he could talk to Johnny, he let his mouth run a little, telling him how Bull'd always wanted to be this close to him, to feel him like this around him, how Bull would look after him from now on. Bull told Johnny how much he loved him. Then he took Johnny's cock in his hand and started to pull him off.

Every time Bull touched Johnny, Johnny spasmed around his cock. It was hard to keep pace that way, so Bull stroked Johnny as he pulled out so that he'd squeeze down for that, then let him be as Bull pushed back in again. It worked a few times, before Bull lost his focus and had to take Johnny now. Bull let himself follow what his body wanted to do, and thrust into Johnny at nearly the speed of his heartbeat, or so it felt. He couldn't imagine how the pounding in his heart and the smack and slide of their bodies together could be two different things any more. Bull felt driven forward to make them into one person, and from the way that Johnny was writhing under him, Johnny wanted that too.

Bull wasn't sure he was breathing any more, or that Johnny was. All he could feel was the tightness around his cock and how Johnny's body seemed to be made just for Bull. The heat kept rising inside him, carrying him forward until finally he felt release. He thrust hard into Johnny, driving them both into the edge of the table. He thought Johnny came then too, but could hardly feel anything through the release that ripped through his body. Bull held on as best he could and rode it out until he was spent. He slumped forward against Johnny, half bracing himself on the table. His knees felt weak and he wished they were in a bed. 

What would it feel like to make love to Johnny in a real bed, a big one with clean sheet and real pillows? Bull had never been in a bed like that, but he'd seen them in the pictures. He would be able to take Johnny into his arms there and hold their bodies together as they fucked, but it would be sweeter than just fucking. Bull laid his hands flat on Johnny's back and stroked his skin, marking the line of his spine with his thumbs. It'd be so sweet, he thought. He was getting hard again already, and he didn't want to take Johnny on the table like this again. He kept worrying that he'd hurt him.

Bull pulled out, which made Johnny whine and try to back up until he could touch him again.

"Don't leave me," Johnny said, and the desperation in his voice came near to breaking Bull's heart.

"Never," Bull said. "Johnny, I'll never leave you, not on my life." He bent down and picked Johnny up, not throwing him over his shoulder like he had earlier, but scooping him in his arms. He was heavier than he looked like he should be, small but made of solid muscle. Bull didn't think he'd be able to carry him far, but he remembered that some of the guys had spread blankets over piles of straw. That wasn't too far from the table. He left the lamp where it was. It didn't give much light to the next of straw, but it was enough to lay Johnny down.

Bull stroked Johnny's legs. His hands slid over them, and then down to where his pants were still caught around his ankles. Bull definitely wanted to have those legs wrapped around him, so he picked at the laces until he got Johnny's jump boots off, and the pants and skivvies after that.

Johnny tried to push himself up on his elbows but couldn't get any purchase and flopped back down again. "Get the fuck up here, Bull," he snapped. He sounded more like himself again. That was good. Winters had been worried about that somehow, though Bull wasn't sure why. He was doing all right, he figured.

Bull squeezed Johnny's ankles and asked, "You sure you want me to do that, Johnny?"

"Keep saying you're not stupid," Johnny muttered, sounding more like himself. "Don't prove me wrong now."

"Well, all right," Bull told him and he slowly crept up Johnny's body until his mouth was level with his dick. He breathed on it, his lips almost brushing the tip. "If you're sure."

Johnny's breath caught, and when Bull looked up through his lashes, Johnny was looking down at him with those same dark eyes as before. His face was flushed with need and gleaming with sweat. He licked his lips.

Bull licked the head of his cock.

In an instant, Johnny had grabbed Bull's hair and forced his head down over his dick. Bull opened his mouth wide and shifted up again until he got the angle right. He almost choked. He'd never liked having his face fucked, but it was what Johnny wanted, so he tried to swallow and focus on the way Johnny was moaning his name, and not how his jaw stretched and how much he wanted to back off just a bit. He was still hard and rubbed idly against the blankets as he let Johnny jerk his head up and down somewhat in time with the thrust of Johnny's hips. Bull sucked when he could, and ran his tongue over Johnny's cock to make it sloppy. He could make Johnny feel like that, and that was good enough for Bull.

Johnny was swearing and telling Bull how good he felt, how much he liked his mouth. Bull had started to get the hang of swallowing, and his throat fluttered against Johnny's dick. That made him moan and cry out. Johnny begged for more, but Bull didn't know what to give him except to squeeze his thighs and keep swallowing around him. It was easier when Bull could tell Johnny that he wanted him too. He tried to show it with the gentleness of his grip as he massaged Johnny's muscles, the way he did his best to take all of Johnny's cock. Even if Bull didn't always like rough stuff in bed, this was Johnny, and Bull knew that Johnny wouldn't really hurt him. He couldn't.

When Johnny came, he screamed and pulled Bull's hair so hard tears stung his eyes.

Bull did his best to swallow Johnny's come, but he coughed and spluttered enough that Johnny pulled Bull's head away and shimmied down until they lay chest to chest. Johnny was peering into Bull's face then, studying his expression with the same intensity as he checked his harness before a big jump. He was looking for cracks or flaws, and Bull wouldn't show him those.

Instead, Bull kissed Johnny. He was wet and sloppy and made sure that Johnny tasted his own come in Bull's mouth. Bull wanted him to know what he'd just done, and that it only made Bull want to kiss him more. From the needy whimpers that made it through the kiss, that had been the right thing to do. Bull wrapped his arms around Johnny and pulled them chest to chest. His cock skid between Johnny's thighs, and he started to rut.

"No!" Johnny said, and Bull wanted to stop, but he couldn't. Johnny's thighs were slick with shaving cream and Bull's come, and they felt so good clamped around Bull's cock. "Bull, no! I need..." Johnny slapped at Bull's shoulder in frustration, his open palm hitting hard enough to leave a welt. With a grunt, he shoved Bull onto his back, off the blankets and onto the straw. 

Bull was still holding tight and the movement pulled Johnny over with him until Johnny lay the length of his body. He grinned down at Bull like that was all he'd wanted, then wriggled like an eel until Bull couldn't keep hold of him any more. The pressure of his thighs working against Bull's cock as he struggled almost made him come, but Bull bit his lip and hung on.

Johnny swung his hips around until he was kneeling astride Bull. Bull tried to grab his hips and pull him back down again, not liking the feel of cool air on his cock when everything had been warm and slick earlier. He didn't have time to protest though. Johnny sank back down until his ass rested on the tip of Bull's dick. Then he grinned down at Bull and waited.

"Now who's being stupid," Bull growled. He took Johnny's hips and gripped hard, hard enough to bruise, and hard enough that he couldn't possibly wriggle away from him this time.

"Not me," Johnny snapped back. "Now are you going to fuck me, or what?"

Bull pulled Johnny down towards his body, and they began again.


	2. Chapter 2

Bull came to with a splitting headache and someone drooling on his shoulder. He hadn't woken up like that in a dog's age, not since—Bull tried to think back to the last time he'd gotten so drunk that he'd woken up in a strange place with a stranger in his arms. Crud was crusting his eyes closed, and he brought up the arm that didn't have a stubbled cheek resting on it, and scrubbed at his face. The movement made his partner grunt and shift against Bull's body. The man had a leg thrown over Bull, and a calloused hand resting flat on his chest, covering Bull's heart.

Bull blinked his eyes open and tried to figure out where he was. It was dim, and he could hear rain on a tin roof. Jode Britten's hay loft? Bull certainly had straw digging into his ass. He needed to be more careful. He blinked down at the tangle of dark hair lying on his chest, tipped his head to get a better look at his partner's face, and felt the world go dim.

Bull wasn't in bed with a stranger. He knew this man, and though he'd wanted to roll in the hay with him for a long time, he'd never imagined it would actually happen. Bull knew the barn, too, now that he looked around it. It'd been their CP for the last couple of days, since they'd gotten to this God-forsaken stretch of riverbank. Parts of several uniforms were scattered across the floor, his and Johnny's, Bull assumed.

"Sweet Lord in Heaven," Bull muttered. He couldn't imagine how drunk he must have been to end up with his platoon sergeant wrapped in his arms in the middle of the command post. They were both naked as jaybirds, and reeked of sweat and come. Johnny had come on his face. It had to be Bull's.

Bull's heart started to pound. He had to find some way to get out of here, more importantly to get Johnny out of here before they were caught. What the hell had come over him?

"I didn't—" Bull started to say, but he couldn't finish. He couldn't have hurt Johnny, could he? He struggled to think back, but his mind felt jumbled, and all he knew was that he had to find some way to get Johnny out of there before any of the officers came back. Bull pushed himself up onto his elbows, which dumped Johnny onto the straw.

"Fuck," Johnny muttered, and rubbed at his face. He groped around until he found Bull's thigh and tried to wrap his arms around it.

Bull swallowed against his dry throat. He felt like he'd just come off one of Sobel's waterless night marches. "Johnny," he said in a low voice, the words sticking in his throat. "Johnny, wake up."

"Bull?" Johnny clung onto Bull's leg harder.

"Christ." Bull took a breath, lowered his pitch, and hissed, "Sergeant Martin!"

Johnny snapped awake. "Bull?" he asked again, but now he was scrambling away from Bull. Bull could see him scan the room and take in all the same things as Bull had in seconds. "Bull, what the fuck is going on?"

Bull shook his head. "There was..." he tried, but he wasn't sure what there was. Johnny had found someone's blanket and was holding it up to his chest.

Johnny tried to get up, winced, sat down too hard, and glared at Bull. "Did you screw me?"

"I..." Bull's heart caught in his throat. He must have. "Johnny, I'm sorry," he said, knowing it wasn't enough.

"Never mind," Johnny snapped, though the anger in his voice made it clear that he wasn't finished. "We need to get dressed, and get the fuck out of here, and then find out—"

The barn door opened and Captain Winters walked in. Bull looked back at Johnny to see his face turn the colour of a frozen pond.

Bull could feel cold running down his spine. They were both buck naked, and even a Mennonite would be able to tell what had just happened. Before he could think better of it, Bull stood up and stepped in front of Johnny. He couldn't hide him, but he could take the heat of Winters' attention. "Sir, it wasn't Johnny's fault," Bull said, the words tumbling out. "You can't go blaming him, Captain. It was my fault. I made him do it."

That would land Bull in a whole other kind of trouble, but if it kept Johnny safe then it would be worth it. Anyway, Bull had no idea of what he said was true or not, it very well could be. He might have forced...

Bull pressed his hand to his mouth, feeling nausea rise.

"Sir," Johnny started to say, about to ruin it, surely, and Bull glanced back, trying to think how to stop him. Johnny was struggling to his feet. He'd let the blanket go, and Bull could see _handprints_ on his hips. "Sir," Johnny tried again, and Bull knew the gears were turning in his head. Maybe the damn fool would have some sense and realise that letting Bull take all the blame would be the best thing for the company.

Winters was acting oddly. Bull had seen him pissed off at his NCOs enough times to know what that looked like. Hell, Bull had even seen him mad at the other officers. Normally finding Guarnere (it usually was Guarnere) in the middle of some stunt would have Winters flushed and angry, his hands clasped so tightly behind his back that his shoulders twitched. Now he stood a little slumped, with his hands in his pockets and a sombre expression on his lean face. He looked up and down Bull's body, then did the same to Johnny. Even in the rain-washed morning light, Bull could see a blush rising on Winters cheeks, and not from seeing an enlisted man naked. It had to be because Winters knew what they'd done, what Bull had done.

Bull opened his mouth to start again, but Winters held up a hand to silence him.

"Sergeant," Winters said, his tone deliberately even, "what do you remember about last night?"

"Um," Bull said. He closed his eyes and tried to think back. He got feelings more than anything: lust, affection, fear, pride, more lust. He could taste Johnny's come in his mouth still, but beyond that, he could almost remember what it had felt to taste him for the first time. He could feel himself squeezing Johnny's hips, holding him down. He could hear an echo of a cry. He thought it was of pleasure. He knew it had felt good to hear it at the time. "Sir," Bull said. "Captain Winters, sir, I remember that I... I forced Sergeant Martin. It wasn't his fault, sir."

"Bullshit," Johnny snapped, and Winters turned to him.

"Do you remember differently, Sergeant Martin?" Winters asked. There was something in his tone that was putting Bull on edge. If only his head didn't ache so badly. He couldn't think straight.

"No, sir," Johnny snapped off, like he was on a parade ground. "I don't remember a damn thing, sir, but Bull Randleman wouldn't hurt me, and that's a fact."

Johnny's words curled around Bull's heart like a fist and clamped down until Bull felt like he wanted to cry. He could feel his face crumpling, and he raised his hands to hide his expression from Winters.

"You're right, Sergeant," Winters said. "What happened wasn't Bull's fault, and it wasn't yours either, Johnny." His voice was pitched soft, and something about it tugged at the edges of Bull's memory. Had Winters ever spoken so gently to him? He didn't remember it if he had, but Bull could feel the rising concern hearing that tone brought, and it felt familiar, a word trapped on the tip of his tongue.

"You can't know that, sir," Bull insisted. "Hell, I can't know that." And even if it hadn't been Bull's fault, their CO had still walked in on them naked as near as in bed together to convince a court martial of what they'd been doing.

"You were drugged," Winters said flatly. "I saw it happen. I can know. None of this is your fault. Neither of you is in any trouble."

Bull glanced at Johnny again. He was still pale, and was standing stiffly, hands balled at his sides. Spots of colour had started to form on Johnny's cheeks, and Bull could sense an explosion building.

"Drugged?" Bull said, turning back to Winters. He remembered Johnny screaming, something on his face. "Was there..." that sounded unreal, but the words felt right in Bull's head, so he said them: "There was a chemical attack. Johnny got hit, and I touched it, pulled him out, then..." He lost the thread of what had happened after that. He could still hear the flash grenade and Johnny's scream.

"Then you lost control of your actions," Winters told him. He coughed and shifted back onto his heels. "I, well, I tried ordering you to stop, but you weren't capable of listening. I couldn't see any way to get you apart without contaminating more men." Winters didn't say he was sorry, officers never did, but Bull could hear the apology in his voice.

Behind Bull, Martin's breath hissed out. "Shit."

Bull couldn't see he disagreed. "Sorry, sir," he said, which didn't seem to cover it, but he didn't know what else to say.

Winters nodded shortly, accepting his apology and moving on. "Any report of this incident will state that you were temporarily indisposed, but recovered after twelve hours' rest."

_Twelve hours?_ Whatever the drug was had knocked them both for a hell of a loop. Bull wanted to look back at Johnny again, but he could almost feel the heat of his glare, and didn't quite dare.

"Is that clear, troopers?" Winters asked, and Bull realised he hadn't answered. He was still too hazy.

Johnny snapped off another, "yes, sir!" but Bull hesitated.

"Sir," he said, "I couldn't say I'm fit for duty yet. Maybe if I had some place to wash up..."

He wanted to throw himself in a deep pond and let the water wash his sins away, like the pastor had done in the river long ago.

"Yes, of course," Winters said. "I've had the men rig a shower. Spina thinks you should try to get any traces of the chemical off your skin. You'll have to change uniforms, as well."

Bull didn't have a spare set of ODs, but he could wear his service uniform for now, and find something else later. "Thank you, sir," he said.

Winters nodded curtly and turned and started to leave, but something caught at him, and before he got to the door and turned back. "Boys," he said, then paused before plunging on, "if there's anything you need, anything I can do..."

"Thank you, sir," Bull said again. Winters' offer, as inarticulate as it was, wrapped another strand around his heart. He couldn't imagine what Winters could usefully do, and neither could Winters, but that didn't stop their prudish CO from trying to offer himself up, even when he'd clearly seen more than he wanted to of what he doubtless considered an immoral act.

Johnny hadn't said anything, and Bull waited until Winters was gone before he turned to see what was the matter with him. Johnny was still smouldering with rage, and catching Bull's eye was all it took to set him off. "Goddammit, Bull," Johnny snarled. "What'd you go do a stupid fucking thing like that for?"

Bull could think of any of a half dozen things Johnny could be shouting at him for, and he agreed that most of them probably were stupid. He didn't have the heart to ask for specifics, so he just hung his head, and said, "I can't say how sorry I am, Johnny."

That was the wrong thing to say, it seemed. "Yeah?" Johnny asked. He crossed to Bull so that they could stand chest to chest. Bull could feel rage radiating off him in waves. "You can't say? Well that's great, because I don't wanna hear it." Johnny spun away from Bull, and stomped out of the barn, still buck naked.

Bull followed more slowly. He needed to make sure Johnny was okay, even if it was clear that Johnny didn't want to talk to him at all. In the drizzly morning light, the farmyard looked slightly unreal. Bull had grown up on a farm not unlike this one, but seeing the stone walls and heavy timbers that were older than the state he'd lived in—probably the country he'd lived in—made what should have been familiar seem alien. Now it stood empty of men, the company presumably having relocated (they were all going to be angry at Bull and Johnny for having to do that in the middle of the night), and it felt like Bull was on the set of a movie or something.

At least the rain had let up some, only misting down instead of deluging as it had earlier in the morning and all the day before.

Bull saw the shower set up; it had a little boiler and everything, so there would be a few minutes of hot water. A half curtain blocked the view from the rest of the yard, and maybe some of the wind, but let Bull see Johnny standing under the shower looking the system over. Or he was pretending to look the thing over; Bull realised after a minute that Johnny was actually staring into space. His shoulders had slumped and he no longer looked like he could have powered that boiler through the energy generated by his vibrating rage alone. He mostly looked beaten down and exhausted. His head probably hurt worse than Bull's. 

Bull hesitated in the barn door. He should let Johnny shower by himself; he could have all the hot water that way, and not have Bull near enough to piss him off again. Just because Bull wanted to wrap his arms around Johnny and protect him from everything didn't mean he'd ever actually get to do that. In fact, Bull was beginning to suspect that wanting to do that was what had landed them in this mess in the first place.

Johnny looked up, saw Bull standing there, and yelled, "Get your ass over here!" loud enough for the whole farm to hear.

"Okay," Bull muttered. He trudged over to the shower, the mud of the courtyard slick under his bare feet. He hoped Winters let Bull keep his boots. "Was going to let you have it first," Bull told Johnny when he got there. There was only one shower head.

"Yeah? Then how am I going to scrub my back?" Johnny demanded, and muttered an insult under his breath.

"All right," Bull said placatingly. There was soap, and a couple scrub brushes that looked like they were usually used to clean floors. "Come on then."

Johnny turned the water on and stepped under it sluicing himself down before he moved aside to soap up and let Bull under. Johnny's wet hair clung to his face in a way that reminded Bull of something. He stared at Johnny as he scratched his fingers though his hair to get the water to soak in. They were all leaner after a two weeks in combat, and they all had a collection of bruises and abrasions, but now Johnny had a whole new catalogue of injuries on him. Bull remembered looking each other over in that first shower in Normandy, after they'd taken Carentan, and wondering how each injury had come about. They'd all been black and blue from the jump alone. Now, Johnny had nail scratches down his back, and bruises on his hips and the fronts of his thighs and upper arms. His nipples had hickies around them, and so did his neck, and, when Bull looked, his thighs. Bull had always known he was too strong for his own good, but he'd never seen the damage that strength could do to a friend if Bull turned on him. He wanted to say he was sorry again, but didn't especially want to get punched in the mouth.

"Back," Johnny said, and Bull almost stepped away before he realised that Johnny was holding the soap out to him. Bull took it and rubbed it down Johnny's back. It left trails of suds down his back, cut by lines of water as they ran down Bull's arms and onto Johnny. Bull tried not to look at the damage he'd done and focused on scrubbing briskly from Johnny's shoulders down to the small of his back. The brush left his skin bright pink, and you couldn't see the marks so much through that.

Johnny was shivering, so Bull stepped out of the water to let him rinse while he soaped his own body. He scrubbed blindly at himself, not wanting to look for any more signs of hurt. The fall air nipped at Bull's skin, only the splash off Johnny's body warming his back. It felt like scrubbing down in the backyard washtub in January. Bull kept scrubbing at his shoulders and arms until the skin started to turn raw. He bent and did his legs too. There were fingerprint bruises there, but Bull didn't look at them. He ran the brush up the insides of his legs as hard as he could stand. His cock already felt raw to the touch, and Bull washed it as quickly as he could. Touching it brought back echoes of other sensations. Had Johnny jerked him off? He both wished he could remember and didn't want to know.

Bull felt a hand on his shoulder and flinched at the touch.

"Shit," Johnny muttered and Bull heard the sound of the water change as Johnny stepped out of the spray. Now neither of them was under it, which was just a waste.

Bull didn't turn around, keeping his gaze fixed on the side of the barn, but said, "Can you wash my back, Johnny?"

Johnny sighed explosively. "What the fuck do you think I was just tying to do?"

Bull just shrugged and waited where he was until Johnny stepped back under the warm water and touched Bull's shoulder again. His hand was tentative, and Bull didn't like that either. He stayed perfectly still as Johnny's fingers traced the line of the wound from that tank blast. It was still healing, stitches to come out next week. Bull stood, trembling like a deer, and waited. Johnny rubbed the bare of soap across his shoulders, careful to avoid the wound. Warm water dripped off his hands and ran down Bull's back, over his ass, and down his thighs. His skin felt raw even where it hasn't been scrubbed. Johnny had the brush in his hand and ran in it lightly across Bull's skin, as effective as wishing.

"You ain't gonna hurt me," Bull said.

Johnny scrubbed a little harder. The stiff bristles scoured Bull's back. He wanted to lean back into Johnny's touch, but stayed where he was until Johnny was done. Johnny stepped out from under the shower and Bull rinsed off. The water was turning cold now, and he moved as quickly as he could. It felt good to be clean, at least. None of them had showered since they'd jumped a few weeks before. There were supposed to be showers in Nijmegen, but the company hadn't gotten a shot at them yet.

The cold air raised goosebumps on Bull's arms as he towelled off. He kept his back to Johnny until they were both dry and only turned around to ask "Well now what?" when he realised that neither of them had anything to dress in.

Johnny's skin was turning blotchy from the cold, and he rubbed his arms as he started to shiver. "Go back in the CP and find our shit." Johnny left the insult to Bull's intelligence implied this time. Maybe he was just too tired, but it worried Bull.

Re-entering the barn gave Bull a new look at the chaos they'd left. He skirted the pile of clothes and the big table that was covered in smears of something. The contents of someone's musette bag were scattered across the floor, as were blankets and hay

"Shit," Johnny muttered again. He too made a wide circle around the worst of the mess.

Their barracks bags were up in the hay loft, and Bull made sure not to look at Johnny's ass as he scampered up the ladder. He had a memory of looking before, and how much he'd liked it, but he'd imagined getting to properly look so many times that it didn't feel real.

Bull waited until he heard Johnny's belt buckling before he climbed up himself. The only right thing to do was to try to give him as much privacy as he could now. That horse was far, far out of the barn and gone, but Bull didn't know what else to do. The wood of the ladder was rough under his feet, and not like when he was a kid and they all scampered around barefoot because none of them could afford shoes most years. Bull had let himself get soft since then. Bull tried to recall what his life had been like back then, but it seemed so far away. Everything seemed far away.

Bull's service uniform was at the bottom of his bag, and he took his time getting dressed. He didn't have another pair of boots though.

Dressed as well as he could be, Bull found a carton of cigars, and took one out. He'd been saving this pack, but the few he'd had tucked in his shirt pocket would have to be given up now. Bull took his time about biting off the end, chewing the sweet leaves that came with it. He didn't have a lighter, either, but just chewing was all right for now. The familiar taste settled him out, some.

When he looked up, Johnny was sitting on a bale of hay watching him. He had his usual sour expression hardening his face, and his arms folded tight across his chest. When he caught Bull looking, he snapped, "You just going to gawp at me all day, or do you want to find some boots?"

Bull knew the question was meant to get him moving, but he thought that maybe this would be his chance to say something, to try make things all right between him and Johnny. He hesitated, tired mind groping for the right words. If only he could get across how very sorry he was without tipping off that, in a different light, what had happened had been something he had dreamed of for years. He couldn't stand that Johnny might think Bull had wanted to hurt him like this, make him so unhappy.

When Bull didn't say anything, Johnny grunted and turned back to the ladder. Bull hadn't known a fellow could stomp down a ladder, especially without boots on, but it seemed like he could.

He should follow, Bull knew, but he didn't have the will to do it. Instead, Bull slumped onto the nearest bale of hay and put his head in his hands. If he pushed hard enough at his eyes, the world turned to stars and it was easier not to think. Bull stayed like that for a while until he heard boot steps, and then Bill's voice echoing up through the rafters. That man just didn't seem able to talk peaceably.

"Just seeing how you was," Bill said, and Johnny grunted in reply. "That good, huh? Looks like you had quite the time in here."

"Don't remember shit," Johnny said, and Bull wondered if that was true, or if like Bull, Johnny could see the previous nights events like he was looking down through muddy water.

There was a pause, and Bull could picture Bill with his hands on his hips, just a little taller than Johnny, usually, but looming over him now that Johnny had his arms folded and his shoulders hunched in.

"Do the guys all know?" Johnny asked. His voice was so low that Bull had to strain to hear it. Bull shouldn't be listening in, but then Johnny knew he was up there. If he wanted to talk to Bill in private, he could go outside.

"You kidding? Half of Holland knows," Bill said. "You weren't quiet."

"Shit, shit, shit," Johnny muttered.

Bull groaned. Of course they all knew, and Bull was going to have to face them. Hell, he was going to have to command them, unless Winters had been lying about them not being in trouble, and they were both going to be busted back to private, or thrown in the stockade. His skin crawled with the shame of it, and he wanted to wash all over again.

Bill asked something too soft to hear, and Johnny answered, "Yeah, he's hiding."

"I ain't," Bull replied.

"Get down here," Bill yelled up, "'fore I make it an order."

Bull sighed. He'd known that staying in the loft wasn't going to last long, but he wished he'd had just a few more minutes to try and pull himself together.

Bill at least looked apologetic when Bull got back down to the main level. He held out his hand, and Bull shook it. It didn't feel any different than it had when he'd come back after being missing in Nuenen. Bill had been smirking then too. "Glad you're okay," Bill said.

Bull just nodded. Johnny made a dubious noise.

"Listen, you two better go make yourselves scarce," Bill said.

"How's that?" Johnny asked. "Winters change his mind?"

"Nah, you won't have no problem with Winters." Bill folded his arms and glanced at the soaked and contaminated ODs scattered across the floor. "But I hear G2 wants to know all about that new chemical, what it does, what it feels like. Guess they're after your blood."

Bull and Johnny exchanged a glance. "Wouldn't be no harm in giving them some," Bull said. "If it'd help."

Johnny always had been the smarter one. "They want to transfer us."

"You got it," Bill told them. "Back to London. Captain made sure I heard about that, and he gave me these." Bill held out a handful of papers. Bull took a couple. The top sheet was a seven-day liberty to Belgium, under it a travel pass authorising transit as far as Brussels. The names had been left off.

"You have to be shitting me," Martin snapped when he saw them. "We can't leave the boys."

"Better for a week," Bull said. "Rather than London."

"Maybe the jokes'll have died down by the time you get back," Bill said, though none of them believed that. The time two of the sergeants got mickeyed with Nazi drugs and spent the night screwing wasn't the sort of thing troopers let slide.

"That's all fine, but I still don't got boots," Johnny said, which was when Bull knew he'd given in. "And sounds like I can't exactly track down the S4 and ask for 'em."

Bull winced. The idea of facing Sobel on a good day gave him a headache. Now that he already had a headache, well.

"Nah, don't do that." Bill bent down and started pulling at his own laces.

"Bill," Johnny stared to say, but they all knew what was practical.

Bill shoved the boots into Johnny's arms and said to Bull, "I'll get Joe to give you his. We can get more from supply."

"You're a pal," Johnny told him, and it would have come off as flippant except for the emotion cracking his voice.

"Yeah, shut it and get going," Bill snapped. "I don't want to see neither of you near here for a week."

Johnny was putting Bill's boots on, so Bull went back up the ladder to get their bags. Everything was going too fast for him to keep up with. Two days ago, he'd have begged for a liberty to somewhere safe, especially with Johnny by his side. Now, he was sure it was the last thing in the world Johnny wanted, and he didn't feel right leaving his boys. Half the replacements were still the colour of grass, and this would strip first platoon of half its Toccoa NCOs.

Johnny, obviously thinking the same thing, was talking low to Bill, their heads almost touching. "Just don't let them put Hoob in charge," Bull caught.

"Naw, Lip'll do it," Bill answered. "We'll hold fine. Now get going."

It wasn't as simple as just walking out of there, but it wasn't much more complicated either. Winters had kept the area clear because of contamination; Toye gave Bull his jump boots, which were too tight but better than going barefoot, and from there it was a matter of hoping on to a cargo truck headed back towards the the depot, and then another dead-heading to the big ports behind the lines.

Less than two hours after they woke, Bull was sitting shoulder to shoulder with Johnny in the bed of a truck headed back towards Belgium. The roads were rigged and patched, and the truck rocked more than Bull was used to, especially sitting on the floor of a cargo compartment, but it was out of the rain, and they were safe for now.

The problem was telling that to Bull's spinning head. He kept going over the last few days, then starting that morning, feeling for the shape of the gap in his memory, but it was so hard to feel that something was real when all Bull had of it was that blurred feeling on the tip of his tongue. He and Johnny were separated from the men, on the run almost, and though in his head Bull knew why, in his heart it felt like desertion.

"They'll be okay," Bull said to himself, but it wasn't that convincing, not with how much combat they'd been seeing.

He hadn't even thought to ask Bill what had happened after Johnny had been hit. There'd been a fight. Had they lost any of the boys? Who else had been hurt?

"Do you think..." Bull started to ask, but Johnny glared at him, leaned against his ruck and pretended to sleep.

Bull sighed and wished he could do the same. His head still ached and the road wasn't making it any better. He tried to brace himself in the corner next to Johnny, but kept bouncing against him. The worst of it was that while Johnny on a good day was an irritable son of a bitch who'd punch you as easily as saying hey, he was also Bull's friend, and while he'd snarled at Bull any number of times, he'd never refused to talk to him at all.

_What'd you go do a stupid fucking thing like that for?_ Johnny had demanded, and he seemed to think Bull had had half a choice in the matter. Did he think Bull was lying about not remembering, too? Or that Bull had somehow done this on purpose? He'd told Winters that Bull wouldn't have hurt him, but NCOs stuck together in front of officers, like officers did in front of NCOs.

Or maybe Johnny remembered more than he'd said. Winters had said that he'd ordered them to stop and been ignored, had Johnny also asked Bull to stop? That seemed familiar, and the idea of Johnny saying _no_ tugged at Bull's mind. Did Johnny remember that much as well? Or maybe even more? Bull wished he had the courage to ask, but he was too much of a coward to hear his suspicions confirmed. He didn't see how he'd be able to live with himself after something like that, and he couldn't imagine that Johnny would want to look at him either.

Nor Bill, who was Johnny's main confidant. A week away wasn't going to do anything but make things worse if that were the case. Especially if Johnny couldn't get away from Bull the whole time.

It was not, probably, too late for Bull to take that assignment in London. He might be of some use there, after all, if those science types could work out what had been done to Bull and how to stop it happening to others. If it worked, it could do more good for more people than he ever could as a squad sergeant.

If it worked. If the US Army's weapons research team did anything at all with Bull. They'd probably have samples of the stuff already, if they'd taken their clothes and things. Bull wasn't sure if science worked like it did in creature movies, or Sherlock Holmes pictures either, but he was pretty sure he didn't want any part of whatever experiments the docs were planning to do. He definitely wanted to keep Johnny away from them, and Bull talking himself around might just do the same for Johnny. Johnny seemed to have an awful lot of faith in Bull's judgement. Too much.

He didn't understand any of it, but when he came down to it, Captain Winters had told them to go, and they'd went. Maybe that was enough for now. Bull wrapped his arms around this ruck and pillowed his cheek on it. He spent the next few hours trying and failing to sleep.

Bull must have fallen asleep because he work up somewhere around Eindhoven when the truck's engine cut out. He'd slumped over sideways and his head was resting on something warm that was digging into his ear. When Bull opened his eyes, he realised his head was on Johnny's leg, which meant the weight on his shoulder was probably Johnny's hand. Bull tensed, and almost scrambled back, but Johnny muttered something and tightened his grip on Bull's shoulder, so Bull figured he must need the rest. If nothing on the bouncing road hadn't woken him, Bull wasn't about to. Bull lay as still as he could, his arms still wrapped around his ruck. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend they were in the back of one of those old Fords back home, pulled off the road somewhere nice. The could have fallen asleep in the sun after a day fishing in the creek. Or they could be watching the sunrise after a night under the stars.

It was that kind of thinking that had gotten Bull in trouble before, and probably had landed them both here besides. Bull tried to think of something else, something still and easy, but when he did that, fragments of the night before pulled at his thoughts. He could almost hear Johnny's voice, feel his body under his hands, taste him. Bull had wanted so badly to know what it would be like with Johnny, and now he'd been with him, he still didn't know. There was some kind of wages of sin in that, but Bull couldn't say exactly where it fit into scripture.

"You boys want some chow?" The driver's voice cut into Bull thoughts and started Johnny awake.

Bull rolled away swiftly and hoped that Johnny hadn't noticed how they'd fallen together. "That'd be good of you," Bull said.

"Ain't me," the driver answered, "but there's a PX down the road a pace."

Bull looked over at Johnny, who shrugged and got up. They were both stiff from the drive, and stiffer still from previous night. Bull's knees ached in a way that didn't track with any real memory, and his injured shoulder had started to bother him like it did when he was too tired or had worked too hard.

Eindhoven looked different at night, or maybe it just looked different after the Nazis had bombed the shit out of it. Either way, nothing about this ruined city reminded him of the joyous town they'd passed through only a few weeks before. The city was under blackout, and with a low, rainy overcast they found the PX almost by feel. It had stale sandwiches and soup out of tins, but it was warm, and the kid at the counter had a nice smile.

Bull smiled back. Johnny glared at both of them.

The PX had taken over some kind of cafe, and Bull and Johnny found a table in the back corner far enough away from the counter for low voices to hide whatever they said. Johnny went at his food like he hadn't eaten in weeks, barely chewing before he swallowed bites of sandwich. Bull hadn't eaten that day either, but found his throat was sore when he swallowed and went more slowly. He tried not to obviously watch Johnny, but his choices were that or the table.

Johnny's spoon clinked on the bowl, the kid rustled though something in the back, and the silence grew worse by the minute.

"What do you think you'll do in Brussels?" Bull asked, mostly for something to say. He was careful not to include himself in the question.

"How would I know?" Johnny snapped. "Ain't like I planned this!"

Johnny hadn't asked, but Bull continued on, the space left by the silence pulling him forward. He felt like he'd stepped over an edge and was falling into the void made by Johnny's anger and silence. "I think I'll just sleep," Bull said. "I'll get a billet, and curl up and not come out of it until it's time to go back."

"What?" Johnny asked, Bull's apathy provoking him into conversation. "You don't want no beer, no chow, no girls?"

Bull shook his head. "Naw, I don't need all that trouble. Enough to eat and somewhere to lie down's all I want." Though if the private at the counter had put a shot of whiskey in front of Bull right now, he would have knocked it right back and asked for another.

Johnny leaned in, his voice turning low and gaining a nasty, speculative edge. He was ignoring his food and had crumpled the napkin into a tight ball. "You don't want to find some WAC with big tits and prove that you're a real man?"

Bull felt a lump in his throat, like he'd swallowed to much at once, and his skin tingled at the insinuation. He had to take a long breath before he could bring himself to say, "Shit, Johnny. I don't see no point in that." He paused, teetering on the edge of indecision, then met Johnny's stare and asked, "Do you?"

Johnny snorted like the answer should have been obvious, and bit into the last corner of his sandwich so viciously that he almost nipped his own fingers.

_Careful, Johnny_, Bull wanted to say. He didn't like the dark turn of Johnny's thoughts any way he looked at them, but it wasn't his place to tell Johnny what to do either. If he had to, Bull would do his best to keep his friend out of trouble, but he was pretty sure that wasn't the kind of help Johnny was looking for right now. Hell, maybe a serious booze up and a few willing woman—hired or otherwise—would paper over whatever Johnny remembered of his night with Bull. Bull couldn't say the idea didn't make his heart ache with jealousy, but he didn't have any right to feel that either.

"You going to get another tattoo?" Bull asked instead, remembering Bill and Johnny's famous liberty in Scotland.

The question seemed enough to shake Johnny loose. He almost smiled at the memory, and shook his head instead of snapping back. "One's enough," he said, patting his right arm where the parachute tattoo lay under the sleeve. "Pat's already gonna kill me for this one."

And then there was Johnny's wife, who he wrote to every week, even if he whored around with Bill and the wilder guys. If Johnny made it through the war, he'd go back to her and settle down, raise a couple kids. There was no place for Bull in all that, and there never would be. Bull had always known that, and always kept his thoughts about Johnny between himself and his dick, feeling guilty for allowing that much. He always did seem to fall for the fellows who'd hand him the heaviest bushel of grief.

Bull couldn't think of anything else to say, but before the silence between them became unbearable again, Johnny put down his spoon and pushed the bowl away. "Let's get back before that truck takes off with our gear."

The logistics corporal hadn't seemed the type to Bull, but he knew there was no point arguing. He finished his soup in two long swallows, and followed Johnny out into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

The truck was still there when they got to the fuel depot, but the driver wasn't. There was a jeep with a couple GIs just pulling in, the depot crew, and that was it.

"Figures," Johnny muttered and sat down on a drum, arms folded, like he hadn't been the one who'd rushed them out of the nice warm PX.

Bull pulled out a cigar, and chewed on the end thoughtfully. He'd forgotten to buy a lighter at the PX, and didn't figure he had time to go back now. He wasn't completely confident that Johnny wouldn't leave without him like he'd said the driver would. The notion unsettled him. He was used to being able to count on Johnny for anything and everything, and the unpredictability of his current mood left Bull feeling off balance.

The jeep's driver was just lighting up a cigarette, so Bull went over and raised an eyebrow, gesturing with his cigar. The driver held up the lighter, and Bull sucked in a lungful of smoke before asking where the fellows was headed.

"Taking the captain there into Brussels," the guy said, some kind of New York accent nasalling his vowels. Bull glanced over at the GI officer, who was talking to the depot sergeant.

"Us too," Bull said, "though it looks like you've got the better ride."

"That so?" the drivers asked, and Bull smiled.

It didn't take much longer to have the driver asking his captain if they could offer two NCOs a ride, as they were all headed the same way.

"Sure would be grateful, sir," Bull said, ducking his head. "Back of that truck's rough going for a couple of worn out troopers." 

He wasn't sure if that was laying it on too thick, but the captain bought it, and even moved up front with the driver so that Bull and Johnny could sit together in the back.

Johnny had been watching the whole exchange with a good deal of scepticism, but didn't argue with the results. Bull couldn't imagine that he wanted to sit on that plank truck bed a minute longer than he had to either. Especially not with his ass in the shape it was in.

They left a note for the truck driver, and minutes later were in a jeep with the top up, the heating on, and at least some padding to the seats. The captain and his driver talked about some action in the north that Bull hadn't heard off, and didn't care about so long as it meant they ignored him.

Johnny was ignoring him too, but after about half an hour, he sighed, stretched, and fell asleep against Bull's shoulder. All Bull could do was wrap his arm around Johnny and pull him in a little tighter so that he wouldn't bounce around so much.

The captain glanced back at them. "He your buddy?"

"You could say, sir," Bull agreed cautiously. "Known each other a spell. And he's my platoon sergeant."

"Looking forward to some liberty?"

Bull would have shrugged, but he didn't want to dislodge Johnny. He was sleeping open mouthed, which always made him drool. "I suppose so, sir."

The captain looked at Bull critically, and Bull couldn't help thinking he was dealing with some kind of test. "Been to Brussels before, Sergeant? No? Well, it's a gay old town. You and your buddy want to know a good place to let your hair down, just ask."

"I'll do that, thank you, sir," Bull said. He could sense the double meanings behind the words, but was too worn out to try work out what they were. He'd ask Johnny when he woke up.

For now, Johnny shifted in his sleep until his head was on Bull's chest, and he had a handful of Bull's jacket clenched in his fist. Bull wondered if he was dreaming, and if so what about. Johnny seemed to be firmly asleep, but he hadn't relaxed, not really. Tension still coiled in his body, even in sleep, but at least he was actually sleeping.

Bull knew that it was just that Johnny was worn to the bone same as Bull, but he liked to think there was trust there too, to fall asleep against him, and in front of strangers. He entertained a slim hope that maybe it would be okay between them. If Johnny would do this, then maybe he would forgive Bull too, eventually.

Bull kept his arms wrapped around Johnny's solid warmth, tipped his head back against the seat and drifted off.

He work hours later with a stiff neck and the captain asking where they wanted to be dropped off. It was late morning by then, and they were in the outskirts of a city of winding streets and iron-balconied rowhouses.

"I dunno, sir," Bull said, "Red Cross, I guess. Wherever the fellows are."

The captain laughed. "That sure would be a waste of a liberty."

Johnny had stirred by then, straightened up, and demanded, "Where should we go? Sir."

Ignoring Johnny's tone, the captain smiled and said he knew a quiet place that they could have to themselves, if that's what they wanted.

That sounded good to Bull, but Johnny had implied that he wanted to be where the action was. Bull was about to decline and asked again for where the liberty guys were being put up, when Johnny said, "Sure, sure. That sounds fine, sir."

"All right, I'll drop you boys off there then." The captain smiled again, which was starting to bother Bull. It seemed to him that the captain was trying to ingratiate himself, which Bull only took in limited doses from Compton, and he was a paratrooper not a doughboy.

They ended up in a house not a hotel, on what was indeed a quiet street. The landlady was a middle-aged woman who spoke no English, or any language Bull recognised, but clearly knew the captain.

While Bull and Johnny got their barracks bags out of the jeep, she and the captain conversed entirely in mime and broken words from three languages. A moment later they were kissing each other's cheeks, and it all seemed to be settled. She took a handful of American dollars off Johnny, and gestured them inside with expansive gestures and words in what sounded a bit like German but probably weren't.

By the time they were in the door, the captain had gotten back in his jeep and headed off to wherever he was going. Bull had no idea where on earth they were, except that it was probably somewhere in Brussels. He supposed they could find a map later; if not, he and Johnny could wander the streets until they figured out the lay of the place. It would be like leave in London, but without Bill Guarnere as a third wheel. Or anyone who understood a word they said, but that wouldn't be much different than quite a few parts of London either.

For now, he didn't care where they were, just so long as there was a bed he could crawl into and sleep for a million years. Hours passed out in the jeep didn't seem to have made the least dent in how tired he was. Bull wondered if it was an after effect of the drug, or just two weeks of fighting catching up with him.

The landlady gestured them up a winding set of stairs, down a narrow hall to a heavy wooden door. She opened it for them and gestured them through, beaming.

Bull had been hoping, for his sanity's sake, that he and Johnny might get their own separate rooms. However, he supposed that sharing in a mansion like this would be more space to themselves than they'd had in months anyway. They could make do with a couple of bunks.

Johnny went in first, then stopped dead so fast that Bull had to brace his arm against the wall to keep from running into the back of him, and said, "Shit."

"What?" Bull asked, but Johnny was already ducking under his arm, giving Bull a clear view of the solitary bed that took up most of the room. It was a massive wood-framed thing with bedposts and a canopy just like in the movies. Half of Bull's squad would have fit in that bed, but other than a straight-backed chair, there wasn't any sign of another place to sleep.

"Lady," Johnny was saying, "We need two beds. No, Dous. Two, see my fingers? One. Two. Two guys, two beds. I don't think this is working, Bull. You speak any of this shit?"

"Not a word, Johnny." He turned, and the lady seemed to have got what Johnny was saying, but was still shaking her head and saying "Une!" a lot. "I don't think she's got another bed, other than hers," Bull added.

"For Christ's sake!" Johnny snarled, which just made the landlady cross herself.

"It's all right," Bull said. "I can sleep on the floor. We'll find something else later." It couldn't be much later than 1300, but Bull didn't think he could face going out into the streets and trying to find a different billet. Everything seemed too difficult, and not speaking the language was making it infinitely worse.

Johnny turned around like he'd been slapped. "No you won't!" he snapped. He turned back to the lady and held his hands out to stall her in place. "Just a minute. One minute." To Bull he said, "You were the one going on about that bed like it was a new heaven. I'll take the floor, or sleep in the chair or something."

The landlady had given up on them and ducked back down the stairs while Johnny's back was turned. Bull watched her go without saying anything. There wasn't any point arguing when they'd already paid, and both Bull and the lady knew it. Bull hiked his ruck up his shoulder and turned away from Johnny to go into the room.

For a moment the adjoining door raised his hopes about another bed, but it was just to a toilet and bathtub. "I could sleep in there," Bull said, nodding towards the tub.

"You ain't!" Johnny snapped. "Christ, you're stupid sometimes."

Bull dumped his ruck on the floor and started to unbutton his jacket. "Thought I was the smartest man in the company," he said. That night in Aldbourne seemed so far away now.

"Only when you're keeping replacements alive," Johnny said, but he'd dropped his bag too, and was looking at the bed with his hands on his hips and an expression of deep offence. "I'll sleep in the bath," he said. "I'm shorter, and besides, that's an order."

"Don't know if you can order me about when we're on leave," Bull commented. 

"Want to try me?"

"No, I don't," Bull said. He felt hollow, and didn't have any fight left in him. He stripped down to his undershirt and skivvies and pulled back the heavy quilts. The mattress was the softest thing he'd ever felt in his life, and the sheets were cool and smelled of some kind of flower. Johnny had been right, this was heaven come down to earth. Bull curled up on his side with his back to the middle of the bed and the rest of the room besides. Sleep pulled him down, but the last thing he said was, "You know, Johnny, there's plenty of room in here for the both of us."

When Bull woke up, he could hear Johnny breathing softly on on the far side of the bed. Bull had rolled to his back by then, but even towards the middle of the bed, he was nowhere near where Johnny lay curled in a ball on the very edge of the far side. Bull stretched his arm out under the covers and could barely touch the cocoon of warmth around Johnny. 

Bull peered through the darkness to the clock on the mantelpiece, but he couldn't tell the time. It was dark outside. No crack of light shone around the edges of the blackout curtains, and Bull felt a little better. His head had stopped aching at least. He rolled over so he could listen to Johnny's breathing better, took a pillow in his arms, and drifted away again. Just before he fell asleep, Bull remembered that he'd once wished that he could be able to get Johnny in a bed just like this one, but he couldn't think when that had been.

Later, he got up to piss, and shivered at how cold the room had gotten. Going back into the bedroom, Bull wanted to crawl under the blankets again and roll right over to where Johnny was. They could share warmth under the covers, a little guy like Johnny would be even colder than Bull. They'd used to huddle up together in foxholes, Johnny snuggling under Bull's coat for warmth and shelter from the rain. If Bull were to take him in his arms, now, he could...

Bull stopped. He'd wanted to protect Johnny before. Bull always wanted to protect Johnny, but he remembered the urgency of the feeling. He'd desperately needed to look after Johnny, so he'd pinned him down, and...

Feeling sickened, Bull rolled back to where he'd started, with his back to Johnny and the full width of the bed between them. Tomorrow, they'd find a different billet, and Bull would let Johnny have whatever peace he could find.

Bull slept again, and dreamed, but didn't remember anything of it save feeling unsettled as he woke.

Thin light filled the room. Someone had lifted the blackout curtain, but only just enough to give shape to the shadows. It was morning, but early still. Bull rolled over, trying to take in the room by daylight.

Johnny was sitting on the far side of the bed, his legs dangling off the edge, his body curved in on itself. Bull thought for a second that he saw Johnny's shoulders shake, but it was hard to tell with the light so low.

"Morning," Bull said cautiously.

Johnny snorted. He straightened, and went into the bathroom without looking at Bull. As the door clicked shut, Bull decided that he needed coffee and hopefully breakfast before he dealt with the idea that Johnny Martin might have been crying.

He just wanted this to stop, to go back to the way it was before when his biggest worries with Johnny were keeping the Krauts from shooting him and Bull accidentally saying how he felt. How the hell was Bull supposed to look after his best friend when they were barely talking to each other? He dressed quietly and went downstairs with Johnny when he came out.

Johnny's expression was neutral, but he made sure to keep a wide space around Bull as they passed in the hall. He didn't say a word at breakfast, and when Bull suggested they go for a walk, see if they could get their bearings, maybe find another place to stay, he just shrugged and followed.

After some gesticulation, the landlady sold them a copy of the American serviceman's guide to Belgium, which had a rough map of the city, but not the street they were on. They walked in silence though winding streets, trying to remember unsigned turns until they came out onto a broad straight road with shops along the sides. Half of them were still boarded up, and Bull could see bomb damage along the median. A Sherman rolled past with a handful of jeeps behind it. Half the men in the streets were in American olive drab, khaki or British army green.

"What do you want to do now?" Bull asked.

Johnny started to shrug, realised he was doing it and folded his arms. He gestured with his chin at the sign for a bar just down the block. "I need a drink."

"It ain't ten hundred hours," Bull said, though he knew he was going to lose this one too.

"You don't have to come," Johnny snapped, and started striding away from Bull with more energy than he'd shown all morning.

Not yet ten or not, the bar was already packed with servicemen trying to get every last minute out of their liberties. Johnny stomped over to the bar, glared at a couple of PFCs until they gave up their seats, and then ordered a whiskey. The bartender at least had enough English to get that right. Bull stuck to beer. He had a feeling this was going to be a long day.

As he watched Johnny slam back the first shot and order another one, Bull suppressed the urge to tell him to take it easy. Bull or anyone else contradicting him would only make Johnny drink harder. Especially now.

Bull was about a third of the way through his beer and Johnny was on his fourth whiskey when a couple of tanker sergeants muscled up to the bar with an eye on their seats. Bull sat up a little straighter and casually half turned towards them. Unfortunately, Bull was against the wall, which meant Johnny was they one they talked to. "Youse Airborne?" the shorter one asked. A Bostonian, Bull guessed.

Johnny ignored them, so Bull glanced down at his shoulder, which did indeed still have a screaming eagle on it. "Looks like we are," he said mildly.

"You idiots sure fucked up our advance on Arnham," the taller tanker said, another Bostonian, of course. "Everyone keeps saying you're the best of the best, but we'd like to see you earn that extra fifty a month."

Johnny's head came up. The bartender stepped back a good two paces.

Bull sighed. "Well, I don't like to argue with a fellow soldier." Johnny was looking at him sideways, waiting for Bull to defend their division. Bull didn't really give a shit what a couple tin can jockeys thought about paratroopers or Arnham, but he didn't want to let Johnny down. Besides, it didn't feel right to let talk like that stand unchallenged, not in mixed company. "I do recall spending an awful lot of time waiting for you fellows to catch up with us. An' I got this in this bit of a tank in the shoulder just 'cause a sergeant in a tin can couldn't see a Panther when it was in front of his nose. Ain't that right, Johnny?"

Shrugging, Johnny said, "Oh, I just thought it was because he'd cooked his brain in that thing. Happens to all tankers. Some sooner than most." He looked at the sergeants for the first time when he said that, and nodded slightly.

The taller one took a swing at Johnny, which Johnny ducked on the way to getting the shorter one in a headlock and punching him in the kidneys. It left the taller one to Bull, which wouldn't have been as much of a problem if it hadn't turned out that half the bar was in from armoured.

Bull got his back against Johnny's and picked up a barstool. He hadn't even finished his beer.

After they got thrown out of the second place, they ended up in a dive bar on the edge of downtown. Bull had managed to finish one beer, and had lost track of how many drinks along Johnny was. Enough to walk still, but enough that his punches were starting to get sloppy, and Bull had been covering for more and more in that last fight.

Worse still, Johnny either had drunk too much or hadn't drunk enough to say a damn word to Bull all day, except when it was to say where to go next or goad him into another brawl.

At least keeping Johnny from getting his head cracked open was keeping Bull busy enough that he didn't have much time to brood. It wasn't even sixteen hundred, and Bull was getting sick of bars, sick of fights, and sick of watching Johnny's mood grow darker and darker.

This was a little hole in the wall that reminded Bull of a bootlag place near the foundry in Kalamazoo. It still ran to more soldiers than civilians, but also had a couple of ladies of the night working the bar. Bull remembered what Johnny had said about finding someone to fuck, and kept an eye on them.

"Like what you see?" Johnny asked, catching the direction of Bull's gaze.

"Not especially," Bull told him. He looked back at his beer so that the ladies didn't think he was interested.

"'Not especially'?" Johnny's tone was mocking. "Don't like girls now?" At least his voice as low enough that it was lost under the chatter of the bar, but than those words were meant to hurt Bull rather than to start a fight generally.

"Never used to be such a mean drunk," Bull muttered. Louder, he said, "What I could never figure was how you squared all your tom catting with being a married man."

"None of your fucking business is how," Johnny snarled, but he glanced down at his drink, seeming to realise that he'd gone a hair too far. "Pat told me she don't care what I get up to over here, so long as I don't bring none of it back home. But you ain't got a wife. What's stopping you?"

Bull fell back on his usual excuse, the one that wasn't the truth: that he really didn't care for girls in that way. "Well, can't say as I'd like to get the clap. You know what they say."

"You can wear a rubber," Johnny said, but he wasn't looking at the girls either, he was looking at Bull, gauging his response, testing him. Bull didn't like how close to the truth Johnny was getting. They'd had this argument before, but never had it felt so loaded.

"You got a rubber?" Bull asked. He felt like he was on poor ground arguing contingencies when what he really wanted to do was demand to know why sleeping with a prostitute was going to fix whatever had broken sleeping with Bull, or how one of these women rated higher than Bull did, how whoring was be okay with Pat Martin, but what he'd done with Bull was not. He knew that none of those feelings made the least bit of sense. He knew, also, that what Johnny wanted, at least in part, was the choice, but the implied rejection still stung.

"No, I don't got a rubber, but the lady will," Johnny said, which Bull thought was optimistic. Johnny hopped off the barstool, steadied himself for a moment, and started towards one of the women.

Bull stayed where he was, hands in his pockets. He was only going to take watching Johnny's back so far, and besides, Johnny was hardly likely to want an audience any more than Bull wanted to see what would happen next. Bull turned towards the bartender and ordered another beer. He swallowed it down in four gulps, and let the buzz of conversation and the warm flow of alcohol carry him away from thoughts of what Johnny was doing.

The sound of breaking glass shook Bull out of his near doze. He turned, and found Johnny with his fists up, two Tommies standing in opposition, and the lady in question making herself scarce, and not looking very happy about it. Bull pushed himself off to the stool, and went to pitch in.

"They say the lady was otherwise engaged," Johnny said as the fight started.

"Don't look like she is now," Bull replied.

They got kicked out of that bar too, and by the end of it, the ladies had all cleared out, leaving Johnny with no options. Johnny taken a smack to the ear and was bleeding from a cut on his cheek that he kept trying to dab at and getting all over his sleeve. Bull was pretty sure that one of Johnny's eyes would have swollen shut by morning, and would have wished for some ice for it if he wasn't convinced that Johnny had it coming.

When Johnny pushed himself away from the doorway, he wobbled badly, and Bull had to take his arm to hold him up. Bull's own back ached from getting a barstool across the shoulders, but at least it'd sobered him up. Nothing but time and coffee would do the same for Johnny.

"Hey, let me go!" Johnny snapped, but when Bull did, Johnny slumped against the wall. He pushed himself back up, trying to straighten his uniform and put his garrison cap back on, but wavered on his feet like a boxer who'd taken too many hits. Bull wondered how much more Johnny could take before he was down for the count. "Wanna go down to that big market?" Johnny asked. "Probably more girls there."

"I ain't looking for a girl," Bull snapped, and Johnny looked at him shrewdly, a glimmer of perception coming through his alcohol soaked haze. "I mean..." Bull tried to think of how to get himself out of that one. "I mean, I don't want none of these local girls. They ain't like the ones back home. I don't hold with whoring, anyhow. You know that."

That seemed to satisfy Johnny. He got his feet under him, tugged his jacket straight and started down the cobbled street. "You don't a have to come," he said. "I'll go on my own."

On any other night—on _every_ other night in the past—Bull would have been content to let Johnny go his own way and satisfy whatever needs he wanted. Tonight, Bull said, "I don't like to think of you by yourself out here. Seems like you might not find your way home."

"Yeah, and where's that?" Johnny demanded, "And what's it to you?" Johnny tried to spin around to face Bull, but his foot slipped and he started to go down.

Bull grabbed his arm and pulled Johnny back up, tipping their bodies together in the process. Johnny's nose mashed into Bull's shirt, and Bull put his arm around Johnny's shoulders to hold him upright. His hand landed on the back of Johnny's neck, which was clammy with sweat and too cold.

"Don't touch me!" Johnny snarled and jerked his body away from Bull. "You done that enough."

Bull folded his arms and watched as Johnny lost his balance and fell face first onto the street. A couple passing officers laughed, and didn't stop to help. Bull waited, watching Johnny's shallow breaths as he lay on the street. He was alive, but Bull didn't think he'd want to be come morning.

"All right, Johnny," Bull said. He bent and pulled Johnny into a fireman's carry across his shoulders. The weight on his injury from Nuenen hurt something awful, but Bull ignored it and pressed on. He'd been keeping track of their route, and was able to head back up the street towards their billet. He didn't think that the landlady would be too impressed with one of her guests carrying the other one in, but she might not be all the way to surprised either.

Johnny groaned against Bull's shoulder but didn't wake up _or_ throw up all over Bull's back. He might not have wanted Bull to touch him, but Bull couldn't just let him lie face down on the street, no matter how much he deserved it.

It was a long, slow walk back up to their billet, and Bull kept his head down and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. This was just like the long march to Atlanta, or the slog to get to Carentan, with fighting all the next day and the night after. Bull knew his body could endure worse than this; the foundry had taught him that even before the army had. His left shoulder had started to burn, and Bull wanted to shift Johnny's weight, but he wasn't sure if he put him down now that he'd be able to pick him back up. It was only a few more blocks. Bull gritted his teeth against the pain and pushed forward.

It was a long time before he found his way back to the door, and Bull almost walked past it when he did, as focused as he was on the mechanical act of moving his body forward one step at a time.

It was early yet, and the landlady was still up, but when she saw the state they in, she shook her head and stepped aside to let Bull pass. Johnny's boots dragged against the wall all the way up the stairs, tipping the pictures to wild angles.

Bull went through to the bathroom and dumped Johnny on the floor next to the toilet. He landed ass first and slumped back against the wall, groaning softly. Bull stared down at him. He had half a mind to shake Johnny upside down until he tossed up half of that whiskey, but he didn't want to look after the mess.

Instead, Bull peeled out of his jacket and blouse and pulled aside the strap of his undershirt. His stiff neck made it hard to turn and look at himself in the mirror, but he didn't think he'd blown any stitches. It just hurt like hell.

Splashing water onto his face made him feel a little better. He looked up and the mirror and froze on seeing his own face reflected, haggard and pale with a bruise darkening his jaw, and such a worn out look in his eyes. Bull's fingers curled around the edges of the counter as he started to sway, drink and fatigue having caught up with him. He widened his stance and looked away from his own reflection.

Johnny was crawling towards the toilet, and Bull turned and left him to it. Another time, Bull would have patted his back and called him fond insults, then got him a glass of water and helped him with his boots.

_Don't touch me!_ Johnny had said. _You done that enough._

There wasn't a lot about that Bull could stand to think on, so he went to lie on the bed, hanging his boots over the edge and staring up at the canopy above him.

It still didn't feel real, this beautiful room in a fine old city he could hardly have named back home. Bull kept looking for his boys, or hearing voices speaking whatever it was here—not quite German—and turning to see where the enemy was. He'd spent the last two days either on the run or trying to keep Johnny from killing himself, and it all felt like some kind of awful dream. He kept expecting to wake up and find himself in a pile of damp hay in Easy's CP, or from having nodded off in the back of a truck, surrounded by his squad.

Bull had never thought he'd miss being on the line, especially not after the pounding they'd just taken and all the boys he'd lost. He throw his arm over his eyes and tried to block out the sound of Johnny being sick and of distant explosions that weren't really there. Bull had gotten through two weeks in Holland, including being wounded and trapped behind German lines, lost all those young, stupid replacements that he's poured his heart into getting ready for combat, and now...

Now he'd lost his best friend too, and for doing something to him Bull couldn't even properly remember.

Bull had always wondered what would happen if he told Johnny he was a queer, but had never dared to do it. Would this have been Johnny's reaction to that as well? Bull would never know now.

Bull levered himself up and looked down at his boots, considering his options. It wasn't that late in the evening. If Bull left now, he could probably still find another billet downtown.

Only, he didn't think he could stand to leave Johnny in a state like this. Bull knew that he was just drunk, not dying, but he also know if he left Johnny like this, he'd fret about him all night. Not that Bull wouldn't anyway, at this point.

Loath to give up a comfortable bed, Bull laid a row of pillows down the middle to make a barrier. Johnny usually slept like a rock when he was drunk, but he'd see it in the morning. It'd let him know that Bull hadn't taken advantage. Again.

Bull buried his head in his hands and tried to remember back to that missing twelve hours. Why could he remember snatches of it, but no more? He thought he remembered Johnny saying, "no." He remembered Johnny's cock shoving down his throat, and how it'd hurt but turned him on at the same time. It was all scraps and flashes after that.

Bull listened as Johnny finished throwing up and the sink started to run. He realised they couldn't possibly share a bed, even with the pillows, but Bull didn't know what to do. He guessed he'd wait until Johnny got into bed and then either sleep on the floor or in the bathtub. It wouldn't be any worse than army life, and a good deal drier.

He got up and stood by the window until Johnny stumbled out of the bathroom and fell into bed. He didn't seem to notice Bull at all, but grumbled something about all the goddamn pillows.

"It's all right, Johnny," Bull said. "I'll get them out of your way."

He pulled the pillows back out of the bed and put them on the floor, one for his head and one to wrap his arms around to help brace his shoulder. It still took a long time to get comfortable, even though the rug was softer than most foxholes. Bull could hear Johnny breathing shallowly though, and knew that no matter how much his head would be killing him in the morning that he'd be alive and would be all right.

What Bull would be was something else again, but Bull didn't know if it mattered any more.


	4. Chapter 4

"Why the fuck are you on the floor?" was the first thing Johnny said the next morning.

Bull wasn't ready yet. He'd come to early, the pain in his shoulder keeping him from sleeping, and had fully planned to get up any minute, just as soon as he worked up the energy to do it. He'd meant to pack up and head for another billet before Johnny woke up enough to give him any flak. Maybe that idea had meant Bull was yellow, but Bull hadn't thought he could handle another fight, or what Johnny might have said.

It was too late now, anyway. Bull rolled onto his back, winced as that jarred his shoulder, and squinted up at Johnny. A shaft of light was coming in under the edge of the blackout curtains, and wasn't doing Bull's head any good. It didn't seem fair; he hadn't even had that much to drink, though he had gotten clocked pretty good in one of the fights.

Johnny was in his uniform, which was rumpled from sleeping in it, and had his hands on his hips. He looked like he was about to catch fire purely on the strength of his rage.

Bull threw his arm over his eyes. "You were right mad at me last night, Johnny," he said. "Didn't reckon you'd wanna share."

"Didn't ask me either," Johnny snapped.

"You weren't in any kind of shape to talk." Bull could tell this was going to be a fight no matter what, so he pushed himself to his feet, and started jamming things in his barracks bag. If he couldn't do this without any flak, well, he had a fair bit of experience parachuting through it.

"Now what are you doing?" Bull had twisted to go by Johnny, careful not to bump into him or touch him, but Johnny grabbed his bad shoulder and yanked him back around. Bull couldn't hold in a hiss of pain. "What the fuck happened to your shoulder?" Johnny demanded. "You've messed it up again."

Bull glanced down. What he could see of it did look a little redder, but he was pretty sure it'd be okay if he could catch some rest. "Fighting," he said. "You remember that, don't you?"

Johnny rubbed his face with both fists and glared at Bull like it was his fault Johnny had gotten drunk enough to forget half the day before. Well, maybe it was Bull's fault, at the heart of it. "Bull, did I do that?"

"Naw," Bull said. He turned away from Johnny and started wrapping up his shaving kit. "Some chickenshit Tommy. You never hit me."

"Then why the fuck are you leaving?" Seemed like Johnny was smart enough to see the difference between both of them both leaving this place for a billet with two beds and Bull abandoning him.

"Figure we'd do better on our own, is all."

This time, Johnny was careful not to touch Bull's shoulder, but he wasn't any less furious when he grabbed Bull's arm and dragged him around to face him. "Goddamnit, Bull. Why the fuck are you mad at me? All right, I know I ain't been no dream to be around these last couple days, but..." he gestured expansively, like that could some how explain his behaviour.

Bull supposed it did. He just didn't think he could put up with it any more. He couldn't take Johnny's constant rage, and his self-destruction the day before had been even worse. Bull wasn't able to look after Johnny, like he'd hoped; in fact, he worried that his being there just acted as a reminder of what had happened. If anything, Bull sticking around was making things worse. He couldn't tell Johnny that though. All that'd do was make him madder, and it might make him insist that they stick together out of pure contrariness.

"I ain't mad at you. Just need some time on my own," Bull said. "Can't seem to think with you around."

"Oh." Johnny said the word the way a man would if he'd just taken a punch to the ribs. He stepped back to brace against one of the bed posts, and dropped his gaze. Even with just a careful sideways glance, Bull could see the same shame rising in Johnny that Bull had been feeling for days. Johnny didn't look up when he asked, "Is it 'cause... I mean, do you remember something, from..." stumbled over his tongue, then pushed on. "Bull, do you remember something from that night?"

"Do you?" Bull asked.

Johnny shook his head, the hangover making him wince. "No. Flashes, I guess. Enough to know what we did."

It was the first time Johnny had said anything about that night to Bull, the first time he'd mentioned it directly since he'd asked Bill who knew what they'd done. Bull's desire to flee warred with a sick curiosity to know what the hell was going on in Johnny's head. Maybe this would be the only chance the had to have things out. Maybe it would only make things between them worse. Either way, Bull found he couldn't turn his back on it.

Even if he did, running away would only wind up with Johnny running after him, probably yelling every step of the way. How Johnny could turn physical pain into anger had never ceased to amaze Bull.

Bull put his ruck down and sat on the edge of the bed. He didn't want to loom over Johnny when he asked this. "You remember telling me, 'No'?" He kept his gaze on his hands.

"I... no. I don't remember that. Do you?"

"Yeah, I do," Bull confessed. "And you were... you got more of that shit than I did. You weren't really... You didn't know what you were doing, Johnny."

"And you did?" Johnny demanded. He moved closer, his boots coming into Bull's line of view. "You saying you fucked me in front of our CO, and you coulda stopped yourself?"

"Well, no," Bull said, because he couldn't imagine he'd have given Captain Winters a show on purpose, no matter what else he'd wanted. "I guess not."

"Winters said we was both hit," Johnny said, "and neither of us had no choice in it. Winters said it wasn't our fault." He sounded like he'd been telling himself that for a long time.

Bull didn't think Johnny believed it either, though. If he did, why was he so mad at Bull? He was about to get madder still, anyhow, but it was best to get it over with and be done, rather than have Johnny find out later and hate Bull all the more for hiding the truth. Bull was tired of it anyway. Tired of Johnny's goading, of the hints and insinuations, of wondering if he knew, or if he didn't know when he'd find out. Bull was tried of keeping the shame and guilt locked around him like an anchor chain, dragging him down as he drowned.

"Winters don't know what I am," Bull said in a low voice. "He'd think different if he did."

"Jesus, Bull, what the fuck are you? A Kraut spy? Count Dracula? "

"I'm a queer, all right?" Bull snapped, hating the feel of the word on his tongue even though all the other options were worse. "I ain't never wanted to hurt you, but, well, I can't say I didn't want you. And I can't say for sure that— and I'm sorry, Johnny, I can't say how sorry I am, but that don't make no difference in the end, does it? 'Cause you can't stand to be near me half the time, and you got good reason."

"Shit," Johnny said, same as he had when Winters had told him what'd happened.

When he didn't say anything else, Bull got up and turned back to his bag. All he had to do was put in the shaving kit and pull the strings tight, but he couldn't seem to get that right. His hands kept shaking, and he didn't think he could do the knots up. Maybe it was that his vision had started to swim. His throat tightened, and he didn't know if he'd be able to breathe in a moment. God. Bull hadn't cried since he'd left Arkansas to find work after his ma said she couldn't feed everyone no more. He didn't want Johnny to see, but there wasn't anywhere to go except to hide in the bathroom, or to turn and face him. He stayed hunched over and tried to get a hold of himself. Bull was a sergeant in the goddamn parachute infantry. He shouldn't let anything hurt him.

Johnny cleared his throat and said, "That's why you told Winters it was your fault. You weren't just covering for me; you believed it."

Bull nodded. He knew that if he said so much as a word, he actually would cry, and he couldn't handle that. He couldn't handle any of it, really. He just wanted it all to stop.

"Dammit, Bull," Johnny snarled, and the anger in his voice would have made Bull run, if he'd had anywhere to go. Behind him, Johnny took a long breath as he tried to settle his temper. "Bull, I'm going to say this clear as I know how, and you're going to fucking listen to me, all right? Good. I known you for more than two years. We been in the same squad the whole time, 'till they gave me the platoon anyhow. Other than Pat, there's no one I know better than I know you. So maybe you are a fucking fruit, but I know you wouldn't hurt me. Not if you had any choice. Winters said we didn't have no choice."

But he _had_ hurt Johnny, even if Bull hadn't meant to, or wanted to, or couldn't stop himself. He'd never be able to change that hurt, or diminish it, and he couldn't even remember what it was he'd done. It didn't matter if he'd had a choice or not, he'd still done it.

The grief and regret that had been building in the pit of Bull's stomach since he'd first understood that finally rose up and choked him. He fought to breathe without sobbing, then just tried to breathe at all. His shoulders shook, and a wounded sound that he didn't even recognise as his own clawed out of his throat and mingled with a sob. His ruck fell to the floor as he covered his face with his hands and curled his shoulders in, but he knew that Johnny had to see. He had to know what a mess Bull was, and that he couldn't even hold it together to talk man to man. In five minutes, Bull had admitted to being a _fruit_ and burst into tears. If one hadn't done in the last scrap of respect Johnny might have had for Bull, surely the other would have.

Behind Bull, Johnny sighed and muttered that he was too hung over to deal with this. He put his hand on the centre of Bull's back, but Bull flinched away. He didn't think he could deal with being touched, especially not by Johnny.

"Shit," Johnny muttered, and made an inarticulate sound of frustration. "Bull, I..."

Bull focused on breathing evenly through his mouth until he felt like he could stand upright without his stomach muscles spasming and pulling him back into a doubled up mess. "Jesus," Bull muttered. "I should've left when I had the chance."

"I'd have followed you," Johnny told him fiercely.

"Yeah," Bull agreed. "Maybe you oughta quit that, now."

Still half blinded by tears, Bull groped until he found the jamb of the bathroom door and then put his back to it and slid down. He folded his arms across his knees and buried his face against his bare skin. Bull sniffed, hating how pathetic that sounded. His eyes were sticky, and his throat and shoulder ached. He was done trying to run anyway, especially if he had to go by Johnny to do it. None of it mattered any more, not after what he'd said, and he didn't have any fight left in him. Bull decided he was just going to stay here and not move until the situation resolved itself somehow. Maybe Johnny would come to his senses and leave on his own.

Bull heard Johnny's boots scuff on the carpet, but kept his head down. More tears built in his throat at the thought that Johnny might really be leaving him. What had Bull expected his big confession would bring? A declaration of love?

Only instead of leaving, Johnny's boot nudged Bull's ankle, and a moment later Johnny was sliding down the wall to settle on the floor next to Bull. He wasn't quite sitting hip to hip with Bull, but he wasn't far off either.

Johnny sighed and sat next to Bull for a while before he griped, "You really are a fucking ignorant hick sometimes, you know that, don't you?"

The choked laugh shook Bull's shoulders same as the sob had. "You keep saying that, Johnny, but I don't know what I done."

He heard Johnny's breath rush out, and then Johnny was leaning over so that their bodies touched. Bull stayed utterly still. It was nice to feel Johnny's arm against his. Johnny'd always been solid and warm, and he'd found a habit of sleeping against Bull after their first few weeks at Toccoa.

When Johnny spoke, he sounded utterly worn out. His voice was softer than Bull had heard it in weeks, and Bull tilted his head to make sure he caught it. "What you've done? You spent the last coupla days rolling over and showing me your belly every time I pushed you," Johnny said. "I been treating you like a dog, and you been acting like one. I can't stand it."

"Johnny, no, it ain't..." Bull sniffed again and cleared his throat. His voice was muffled against his knees, but he didn't want to raise his head. "You ain't treated me no worse than I had coming." 

"Jesus Christ," Johnny muttered. The leather of his boots creaked as he shifted, and Bull felt his shoulders rise and fall in an immense sigh. "I keep waiting for you to say something, but you're just gonna let it sit, so fine. I'll lay it out: you were a godamn imbecile to run in like that and pull me outta there, and even stupider to keep touching me after the officers told you off. I was the one who didn't see the fucking mine, and I shoulda been the only one to pay for that, not you."

"Oh," Bull said. As far as he could tell, Johnny was as serious as the grave. He didn't know what to say to that. He wasn't sorry for trying to save Johnny, and he'd have done it again, even knowing the consequences. It didn't seem like saying any of that would help, though, not now that Johnny was winding up with a list of Bull's real faults, none of which seemed to include what Bull had just told him.

"And you shoulda tried to look after yourself with Winters," Johnny continued, "instead of throwing yourself on another fucking bomb for me. It should just be my ass on the line with G2, not yours. You should be back with the boys, looking after them, instead of both of us being in this fucking hell hole. Last month, I nearly fucking lost you to the Krauts, then I drag you into this. I got four strips on my arm and you got three. That means I'm responsible for you, not the other way 'round." His voice had risen with every word, making Bull want to flinch away, even though moving seemed like too much effort too. Maybe Johnny sensed that, because his voice dropped again as he said, "You hadn't pulled me out, I'd have died or ridden it out on my own, jerked myself to death, I don't know, not..."

He didn't say not what, but Bull well knew what he meant. Not a terrifying whorl of fragmented memories, every one of them about being fucked by his best friend when neither of them could stop themselves. Did Johnny actually wish he were dead over having to live with what they'd done?

"That what last night was about?" Bull asked. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer, and Johnny didn't want to say anyway. He didn't snap back even when Bull goaded, "Guess that didn't work out too good, huh?"

Johnny huffed out a breath and let another long silence pass between them.

Instead of answering Bull's question, Johnny said, "So Denver Randleman's a queer. Guess that explains a thing or two."

Bull almost lifted his head, but he'd gotten this far without looking Johnny in the eye, and he planned to keep up with that. "Like what?"

"Why you never come out whoring with me and Bill, for one."

Bull snorted wetly.

"And why you didn't kill me the other night. Big guy like you: you hadn't've known what to do? I sure wouldn't be walking."

There wasn't much Bull could say to that, seeing as he didn't remember what'd happened. He supposed that was right though, and it made him feel a little better to think that maybe he'd done his best to look after Johnny, in his own way. At the same time, the thought of all the damage he could have done if he'd been a little more out of it made his stomach churn. Forget walking, Bull could have fucked Johnny to death, like Bull was some kind of rabid beast.

Johnny put his hand on Bull's back again, resting it wide between his shoulders. His palm was warm, and his fingertips bushed bare skin at Bull's neck. It was the reverse of Bull's hold on him from the night before.

This time, Bull didn't flinch away. He just said wearily, "You ain't gotta be nice to me, Johnny. I know you don't want to touch me."

Bull feel Johnny's hand tremble against his back, but he didn't pull away. Johnny was silent for a moment, then said, "Whatever I said last night, I was drunk as a skunk."

"Don't mean it weren't true." Bull tried to remember that fancy quote Webster had about that, something about wine, but it didn't come to him. "It's all right. Gonna to ask Winters to move me to third platoon when we get back. That'll be easier."

"That what you want?" Johnny asked. He sounded angry again, which was easier to deal with than a pity-filled attempt at sympathy, certainly better than Johnny's misguided attempts to take the responsibility onto himself.

Bull shrugged his good shoulder, and Johnny yanked away his hand.

"Fine," Johnny snapped. "Maybe that'd be better."

That was it then. Bull had wondered if it would feel better to have it done, like lancing a wound, but he only felt hollow now. He wiped his eyes on the back of his arm and pushed himself to his feet. Johnny stayed on the floor for a moment longer, then stood as well.

"You should get that shoulder looked at," Johnny told Bull. He sounded more like a platoon sergeant than a friend now, which was also fine with Bull. "Saw an aid station around here somewhere."

"I will, Johnny," Bull said. He pulled the string tight on his barracks bag and started to hunt for his cover. 

He finally had to turn and look at Johnny. He was standing at the corner of the bed, his hands tucked under his armpits looking like someone had just told him his pa was dead. The shiner he'd picked up the night before was starting to swell his eye shut. They really should have put something on it, but it was likely too late now. Bull wanted to go over and put an arm around his shoulder and tell him it was going to be okay, but if Johnny flinched away this time, Bull thought he'd start to blubber all over again.

He got his jacket and found his cover in the pocket. Ready to go, finally, Bull hesitated. It didn't feel right to just walk out on Johnny, but then nothing had felt right in a good long time.

"Bull," Johnny said. 

"Yeah?" Bull wavered still more. He half turned towards Johnny, who was still standing miserably at the end of the bed.

Bull started to away again when Johnny didn't answer, and that movement seemed to pry something loose in him. Johnny moved forward and caught Bull's elbow. "For Christ's sake, don't be stupid," he said. "Leave the damn bag. I'll go with you to the aid station. We can figure out what to do after we see what the doc says. You done your shoulder in lugging that thing around."

"Done it lugging you around last night," Bull said, but he put the bag down. He knew he should just split away, have a few days to put his head on straight, then meet up with Johnny on the way home. Thing was, there was a difference between knowing what the right thing to do was, and actually having the balls to do it.

"Aw, fuck," Johnny muttered. "See, now I have to make sure you get fixed up. Wait a minute will you? I need to wash up."

Bull waited in the parlour downstairs. He tried to think through everything they'd just said, to make it fit with how Johnny had acted these last few days, but it wouldn't come together as a clear picture in his head. It had been a relief to hear Winters' words quoted back at him, like Johnny was at least trying to believe them, and another relief that Johnny hadn't punched Bull's lights out on finding out what he was. He'd even tried to be kind to Bull, in his own ham-handed way, even if Bull hated the idea that Johnny felt responsible for dragging Bull into this.

However, there was still something between them, and Bull couldn't work out what it was. At least not the details. Bull figured it was just Johnny wanted to put the whole humiliating experience behind him, and anything that reminded him of it along with it. That seemed about reasonable to Bull, and he couldn't think of a better idea anyway. Third platoon really wouldn't be so bad. He liked most of the fellows there, and got along with Lieutenant Shames better than most.

"Shake the lead out," Johnny said on the way by, and Bull followed him out into the quiet streets. They only saw a few locals on the way to the aid station, and Johnny seemed to have run through his allotment of words for the month.

At aid station, the found mostly sorry-looking GI's who'd clearly spent the night the same fashion as Bull and Johnny had, plus a handful of men who looked fine except they sat with their legs apart. Bull was glad he's managed to keep Johnny away from the local girls, so at least he didn't have that to deal with.

"You been brawling?" the doc asked as Bull took his shirt off.

"Some," Bull admitted, and got treated to the usual lecture about how he should save it for the Germans.

If Bull had had some Germans to hand, he would have, but he didn't see how that was supposed to work on liberty. He kept his peace, and let the doc prod his shoulder.

"How long's left on your pass?"

"'Nother four days, doc," Bull said. "We're on the line up the road a ways. Take a day to get back."

"Christ," the doc muttered, as though the 101st's deployment had been arranged to offend him personally. "Well, you haven't torn anything or blown any stitches, and it's not infected. Keep out of trouble for the rest of your pass, and sleep as much as you can. I'd tell you to stay off the sauce while you're at it, but goddamned paratroopers."

"Our captain company don't drink," Bull said defensively, though he wasn't sure why he was trying to protest the division's honour in that regard. The doctor was right.

"Follow his lead then, Sergeant," the doc said. He gave Bull some pills for the pain, and sent him off with, "And stay away from the local girls."

"What'd he say?" Johnny asked once they were back in the street.

"It's fine," Bull said. "Said I should act more like Captain Winters and less like you."

Johnny snorted. "And?"

"And I should rest up some," Bull admitted.

"Christ, I'm sorry, Bull," Johnny said with such sincerity that Bull had to stop and look at him to make sure nothing was wrong. Johnny had his hands in his pockets and was studying a wrought-iron lamppost on the corner. "I shouldn't've dragged you along with me. You just wanted to sleep."

"You didn't make me go," Bull pointed out.

"Yeah I did," Johnny said. He sighed and turned to look Bull in the eye for the first time that morning. He really did look done in, his skin a waxy grey, the only colour to it being the purpling shiner. "Listen, let's get some chow and just go back to our room, okay? We both could use the rest."

"I thought I was finding some place new," Bull said.

"Well you ain't," Johnny snapped. "You're staying where I can keep an eye on you. Case you get into trouble without me."

"All right, Johnny," Bull said. There was no sense pointing out that he was not, generally, the one to find trouble.

There was a PX just on the corner, and they could get breakfast there, so long as they didn't mind army food, but Bull didn't follow when Johnny took his assent as an end to the conversation. When he realised Bull was still standing on the corner, Johnny stopped and glared. It was less intimidating with only the one eye working right.

"What now?" Johnny snapped. "I ain't had coffee in too goddamn long."

"You don't mind?" Bull said, and when Johnny raised his eyebrows in contemptuous incredulity, Bull tried to say what he meant without anyone in the street hearing something damning. "Sharing a bunk, after what I said. What I am."

"Oh, that." Johnny grimaced. "Well, you ain't done nothing about it before. Don't see why you would now."

"I..." Bull started to say. He had in fact done something about it, and to Johnny, but Johnny was already stomping off down the street, and Bull didn't have any choice but to follow.

Johnny didn't say a word at breakfast, and Bull didn't have the heart to try make small talk.

Back at their billet, they stripped to their skivvies and Johnny did their laundry in the sink, largely trying to get the blood off his jacket. Bull lay on the bed and tried not to be bored already. He hadn't brought anything to read, and there wasn't a radio. He still felt tired, the lack of sleep the night before adding to the general fatigue of the past few days. He was starting to wonder if he'd ever feel anything but exhausted again.

He'd started to drift off when Johnny came back and dropped onto the edge of the bed like a rock.

"Why the fuck was the bed full of pillows last night?"

Bull shook his head. He didn't want to get back into how he hadn't thought Johnny trusted Bull near him. Instead of answering, he said, "If you're going out again tonight, Doc said I should stay here."

Johnny slumped back onto the bed so that his feet hung off the end and his hair just brushed Bull's elbow. "Think I'll stay here, too," he said. "This town's no fun anyhow."

"Reckon it's not." Bull looked over at Johnny, but the angle and his hair hid his expression. "I was gonna sleep a spell, but if you wanna play cards or something..."

"Nah," Johnny said. "I got a book." He didn't get up though, just lay there almost touching.

"Seems like you're always reading something," Bull said. "You going to school if we get home?"

Johnny tipped his head back to look at Bull. "Was thinking about it. Figure if a chickenshit like Webster can get through Harvard, then I'll do okay with a state college."

"You'll be fine," Bull told him, voice warm with pride. "Smartest man I know."

Johnny snorted. "What about you?" he asked. "Seems like you never talk about home much."

"I do," Bull protested.

"No, you tell folksy stories about down home on the farm, which you ain't been to in years." Bull hadn't realised Johnny had been paying that much attention. "You call everyone 'boy,' and chew your cigars, and they all just write you off as a hayseed and never think to ask what you want to get out of all of this."

"Not much to want, 'sides not getting killed," Bull told him. He paused to actually think it over, trying to pick out a way of saying it that Johnny would understand. "I just try to get by day to day: look after my boys, look after my buddies, if I can. I'll probably work in the foundry again, if I ever do get home."

"Don't want to go to college? The army'll pay for it now."

"Johnny, you know I only ever finished eighth grade," Bull said. "It ain't going to be like that when guys like me get back."

"Guys like you?"

Bull had meant who hadn't gone to high school, but he thought Johnny meant something else. Did he want to talk about what Bull was? "It ain't like I'm going to get married and raise a couple kids, anyhow," Bull said cautiously.

"You always know that?" Johnny asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"I suppose," Bull said. It'd been more complicated than that, but he felt too raw to talk about all that.

"Yeah, but how?" Johnny demanded.

Bull sighed. "A fellow just knows, all right? I ain't got no way to explain it." He really didn't want Johnny to try to worry this one to death, so he added, "Anyhow, I try not to think about after, or if there's going to be an after. It won't do me no good."

"You could come up to Ohio, work the rail yards with me."

Bull pushed himself up on his elbow and looked down at Johnny to see if he was serious. Johnny narrowed his eyes at Bull and scowled.

"I can just think what Pat'd say about that," Bull said. He rolled to his side to pull a cigar out of the drawer and fussed with cutting it so he didn't have to look at Johnny when he turned him down. Johnny had agreed that he didn't even want to be in the same platoon with Bull not two hours before, and now he was offering him a part of his life back home. It was enough to make Bull's head spin. "Shit, Johnny, it ain't as bad as it sounds. I just ain't saying it right.. I didn't mind the foundry, and living day by day, well, I guess you always know that the bad days'll pass, and the good ones you have to hang onto while they last. It ain't like it's hopeless."

"Isn't that what hopeless is?" Johnny asked, "Not having anything in front of you to want?"

"It ain't so bad," Bull insisted. "There's no point planning on it, is all." He lit the cigar and let the smoke calm him. What he had ahead of him to want had always been Johnny, even if Bull had always known he wouldn't get to have him.

"I don't like it," Johnny said, but then he rolled so that his feet were on the bed and his back was to Bull. Instead of finding his book, he flipped the covers over top of himself and seemed to go to sleep.

Bull watched him lie there for a while, puffing his cigar and trying to figure out what to make of the conversation. Johnny seemed to have calmed down some, at least. Had the realisation of the damage to Bull's shoulder shocked some sense into him? Or had Bull's tearful breakdown earlier just made Johnny cautious around him? He seemed to pity Bull, which would have made Bull angry on his own behalf if it didn't depress him so much. Either way, Johnny hadn't tried to turn Bull over to the MPs, and hadn't tossed him out on the street either, and that was something.

Watching Johnny sleep now, Bull felt the same surge of protective love towards him as he always did. It wasn't just that Johnny was younger or smaller, it was that he seemed to take everything to heart in a way that Bull didn't. His constant anger and shit disturbing weren't much of a cover once a fellow got to know him, and Bull hated to see how hard he was taking this. He wished he could take Johnny in his arms and protect him from the whole war, even though he knew that if he'd tried, even when Johnny hadn't known about him, that he'd have gotten get socked in the nose for his trouble. Johnny didn't take protection from no one, and he resented the hell out anyone who thought he should.

Johnny started to shift and twitch in his sleep. Whatever he was dreaming of wasn't pleasant, least not from the pained noises he was making. Was he dreaming of what Bull had done? It seemed like that'd lurked on the edges of Bull's dreams since it'd happened. Or he could be dreaming of the fight at Nuenen, or Carentan, or any of the thousand horrors they'd seen in the past four months, individually or rolled into a single nightmare. Bull hesitated, not wanting to disturb Johnny, and not knowing if it was his place any more, if it ever had been.

When Johnny curled up into a little ball and started to whimper like a child, Bull couldn't take it. He stubbed his cigar out and leaned over towards Johnny's side of the bed. "Hey now," he said. "Easy there, Johnny. You're okay. We're all just fine here."

"No," Johnny murmured, as if in answer, though Bull knew he was lost in the nightmare. He just hoped to God it wasn't one about him.

Bull put his hand on Johnny's bare shoulder, bracing for him to start and take a swing at Bull, but Johnny just shuddered again and tried to twitch away. Bull stroked down Johnny's arm with his thumb, and kept talking low and steady like he would to a shying calf. He could come up with a hundred nonsense lies about how they'd all be okay, so long as he knew that his voice was helping Johnny, not scaring him worse.

It did seem to settle him some. As Bull stroked Johnny's shoulder, Johnny rolled to his stomach and buried his face in the pillow. A few moments later, the twitching and whimpering stilled, and Johnny descended deeper into sleep. Bull left his hand there for a moment, feeling the warmth of Johnny's skin under his palm, and trying not to think of what it had felt like to run his hand up the inside of Johnny's thigh. Johnny's legs had been spread wide for him, and Bull had been so hard that he...

"No," Bull said softly to himself and carefully pulled his hand away. He settled onto his side of the bed with his back to Johnny, arms again around a pillow so that his shoulder didn't hurt so bad. He could feel Johnny's warmth filling the bed but didn't let himself shift towards it. It was enough to be trusted like this again, maybe even to be forgiven, as much as Johnny was able.

Bull was going to miss spending time with Johnny every day when he was in third platoon. He was going to miss all those boys he'd trained, or what was left of them. He hoped they weren't getting chewed up too bad on the line. Even a few days on the Island had shown it to be a hell hole of surprise attacks and very little cover.

Bull pulled the pillow closer to his chest and wondered if he would dream like Johnny had.


	5. Chapter 5

Bull didn't dream—at least not that he remembered past an impression of threatening shadows—but when he woke up, he could feel an arm heavy over his waist and breath hot on his neck. A moment later, he realised the thing poking his ass was probably Johnny's hard on.

Bull kept his eyes closed and tried to work out what to do. By the light under the edge of the curtain, they'd slept a couple hours, and it was early afternoon now. Johnny would probably wake up pretty soon and realise that the person in his arms was not his wife, and more than likely would be pissed off about that.

Johnny probably wouldn't be unreasonable enough to blame Bull, who was clearly on his own side of the bed. Only, would that apply if he realised that Bull was awake, and had been for some time, and that he hadn't pushed Johnny off of him? Now that Johnny knew about Bull, would he think that this was what Bull wanted from him? Not think, know, because Bull was already enjoying the feel of Johnny's body against his a little too much. Heat pooled in his gut, and his cock started to harden.

Bull moaned and pressed his face into the pillow. He'd gotten through all these years without making a fool of himself over this foolhardy crush, and now he couldn't seem to go two hours without messing it up.

The noise woke Johnny enough that the hand that had been resting on the edge of Bull's ribs started to grope down towards his stomach. Johnny made a soft, sleepy noise of pleasure. His cock pressed more firmly against Bull's ass.

"God dammit," Bull whispered. His earlier thought that God had to be punishing him drifted back in, but knowing the root cause didn't help him with what to do about it.

Pretty soon now, Johnny was going to wake up enough to realise what he was doing and who he was doing it to. The longer Bull let it go on, the angrier Johnny would be. He knew that whatever pleasure he was getting out of Johnny slowly rocking his hips against Bull's ass and nuzzling the back of Bull's neck would be paid back shame as soon as it was over. Even if Johnny came without waking up, and Johnny never knew what had happened, Bull still would know, and it would just prove that all Johnny's trust in him had been for nothing.

That thought, finally, was enough to motivate Bull to take Johnny's hand in his, pull it away from where it had been toying with the edge of Bull's shorts, and roll out of bed onto the floor.

The thud Bull made hitting the rug was enough to start Johnny awake. It only took a moment for him to take in the situation because he snarled a curse and rolled back to the far side of the bed. Bull dropped his head and took a few breaths, willing his own erection to subside before Johnny noticed it.

He had, he realised, given up his position of assured innocence by moving out of the bed. He could probably have pretended to be sleeping until Johnny woke up. Now, he was kneeling on the floor with his cock tenting his shorts, and there was no one nor nothing to say that he hadn't made the first move. At least the horror that flooded through Bull at just the thought of that was enough to make him go soft again.

Bull cleared his throat and sat on the edge of the bed. Johnny was half lying half sitting on the far side, one foot on the floor, the other curled up under him, propped up on his elbow. His back was tense, and the hand Bull could see was clenched into a fist.

"You musta been dreaming, Johnny," Bull said. He smoothed the covers down as he spoke, like he could calm the troubled waters between them. "Dreaming of being back home after what we said, thinking you were with Pat."

Johnny's shoulders shook as he barked a laugh. "Yeah," he said. "Pat."

Bull smiled encouragingly even though Johnny couldn't see. "You'd have been in for a surprise once your hand got a little further down."

"Shut up, Bull!" Johnny snapped. He sat up, but didn't leave the bed. Bull could see him balling the sheets in his fists. He was almost shaking with tension, like a dam with too much water behind it. Bull had thought he'd seen an explosion earlier, but realised that had been a sluice opening, and that it hadn't done enough. "I know I call you stupid, but you ain't," he snapped. "So stop playing dumb about this. I know it's gotta be some kind of show, like you put on for the boys."

"I ain't," Bull said. "I'm only trying to—" he broke off, not knowing what he was trying to do. Hold on to some small fragment of dignity perhaps, though that seemed like a lost cause after that morning.

"You said a fellow knows what he is," Johnny snapped. "Don't that mean you can tell about another guy, too?"

"Johnny, no," Bull said. "It ain't..." he wanted to reach across and put his hand on Johnny's shoulder again, to calm his fury like he'd soothed his nightmare. Bull jammed his hand under his thigh to hold back the temptation. "It don't work like that."

"The hell it doesn't," Johnny muttered. He twisted back onto the bed so that he was kneeling facing Bull. "You have to know this is eating me alive, that it's been eating me since..."

"Me too, Johnny," Bull said, trying to work out what Johnny was leaving unsaid so that he could find the words to make it right, but he didn't have any idea if this could be made right at all.

"You said a fellow knows," Johnny snapped. "But I don't. I been running it over in my head, and I don't know." He crawled forward across the bed and grabbed the front of Bull's undershirt. "All I know is I shouldn't be thinking of you like this every time you touch me."

Bull didn't have to ask what thoughts, because he was remembering another time Johnny's hands had been on his shirt, pulling him down into a kiss, how he'd never wanted to stop. He tried to think of what to say to make Johnny feel better about it, to make him realise that he was normal, and just the drug had made him do what he did. "Captain Winters said..." Bull started.

"Fuck Winters," Johnny snapped. "What the hell can he know?Man's probably a virgin."

"All I mean is," Bull said, even though he knew now that trying to placate Johnny would only make him madder, "all I mean is what you're thinking, it's just memories, is all. Memories of what the drugs made you do. It ain't something you want. It don't mean you're like me. You got a wife back home." He took Johnny's hands in his and untangled his fingers from Bull's shirt before setting them on Johnny's knees. "It's gonna be okay, Johnny. I swear it is."

Johnny looked at him with such a mixture of hope and misery in his eyes that Bull felt like he could just about cry again. He clenched his hands against his knees, looked down a them and said in a dull, struggling voice: "You can't know that. You... you don't mind as much because—no, that, that ain't fair. I know it burns you too." Finally, almost too small to hear, "I wish you'd just left me out there, Bull."

"Don't!" Bull snarled, and immediately regretted his tone. Johnny's shoulders had twitched up defensively. Bull had to stop and force himself to gentle his tone, even though all he wanted to do was grab Johnny by the shoulders and shake him for talking that way. "Please don't talk that way," he pleaded. "I don't regret saving you. If I could do it different so you didn't have to remember what I did to you, I would, but I'm always gonna pull you out of the fire. You should know that by now."

Johnny turned his hands over in his lap, studying them like Bull's touch might have changed them. "I don't think you can pull me outta this fire. The thing is, I wasn't dreaming I was with Pat, a minute ago. I knew it was you. I wasn't awake, but I knew it was you."

"It's just the drugs," Bull insisted. "They're messing with your head. Give it time."

Johnny reached up and touched the side of Bull's face, first with his fingertips then cradling his jaw in his palm. "I don't think that'll work."

Bull swallowed. Johnny touching him like that was something he'd wanted for so long it took a moment for his brain to catch up with the notion that firstly it was happening, and secondly that it was wrong. He took Johnny's wrist in his hand and squeezed hard enough to make him stop caressing Bull, but couldn't bring himself to pull it away from his face. "Don't do this to yourself," he said.

"I tried not thinking about it," Johnny confessed. "Christ. I've been doing nothing but trying since we woke up together." He pulled his hand away from Bull and folded his arms tight across his chest. The way his shoulders curled in made Bull's heart ache.

"I know," Bull said, at a loss for anything else.

"It's just, I get all mixed up," Johnny said miserably. "Not just 'cause of that night, but everything before too, and I start wondering, if I was always..." He glared at Bull, his eyes accusing. "But you said you just know if you're a fairy or you ain't."

Bull had not expected that one to come back and bite him either this quickly or this hard. "That's how it was for me," he said cautiously. "What to do about it was the part to worry about. Maybe other fellows are different."

"I been with guys before, you know?" Johnny said. Bull didn't reply. He didn't think he wanted to hear this, but he couldn't stop Johnny from talking either. "You know how I worked the rail yards in Columbus before I got drafted? There was a place where the fairies would go to meet normal guys and get fucked. I was supposed to chase them out, but sometimes—I don't know, Bull—they weren't hurting nothing. One kid, couldn't have been older than me, he said he'd suck me off if I let him stay, and..." Johnny's eyes hadn't left Bull's, but now he closed them for a second, his lashes barely visible past the swelling around his black eye. "So I let him. I wouldn't have chased him off anyway, kid like that, coulda been me if I didn't have that job. I'd just finished highschool, and didn't know nothing 'bout the world, not matter what I thought. I came around a few more times after, and he'd suck me or jerk me off. I liked it. Told myself any man'd like having a mouth on his dick, and he seemed to like doing it."

"What happened to the other boy?" Bull asked, not least because he'd once been the one on his knees in a rail yard in Kalamazoo, though he'd been a little older then.

"Dunno," Johnny admitted. "After a few months, he wasn't there no more, and a new foreman got tougher about clearing out the yards. Always thought about him though, and, well, he weren't the only one."

Bull tried to think what to say about that. Johnny seemed to expect him to have an opinion on this, and he had a lot, but he didn't think any of them were that helpful. He reached across and put his hand on Johnny's bicep, like Winters did to comfort a shaken trooper. "Liking your cock sucked when you're seventeen don't make you a fairy. I been with lots of normal men, even been fucked by a few. They're not looking for any more than to get their rocks off. They'd do a woman if they had one, or could pay one."

"Then why can't I stop thinking about you?" Johnny asked. "It don't feel normal."

"Maybe you should go find a girl after all," Bull said, though the idea seemed all wrong, "try to remember what you like."

Johnny stared Bull's hand on his arm, then looked back up to Bull, seeming to focus on his lips. "I just want to know what it's like," he said. "If I knew, it wouldn't be so bad, you know? One of those girls wouldn't help, 'cause I know them, and it's not..."

"Yeah, maybe," Bull said. He still felt sick when he considered what Johnny had said about touching him. It was bad enough for Bull who'd had some experience in that line, but for someone who'd never been properly been with another man, to only remember it in fragments, to know what it felt like to be fucked, but not have any control of that?

"Bull," Johnny said. He lifted his chin and his face set but not into another scowl but into a set look of determination, like he'd worn when they'd gone to Sink to hand in their stripes. "I ain't got no right to ask you this, but I'm gonna, so hear me out. I need to know what it's like, and the only man I trust to do it is you."

"You asking me to fuck you?" Bull asked. He needed to be clear, even if there weren't many other ways to take what Johnny had said. He was still holding Johnny's arm, Bull realised, and he pulled his hand away. Bull couldn't think straight and touch him at the same time.

"Guess I am," Johnny said. "And I don't want to hear nothing about how you owe me, or it was your fault, or any of that bullshit. You don't wanna, that's fine. I just figured from what you said earlier, that you wouldn't mind."

"It ain't," Bull started, then abandoned the idea. _Minding_ was so far from he problems the Air Corps couldn't see it. "You ain't thinking straight, Johnny. You're upset, and you don't know what you're asking. I take advantage of that, you'll... Jesus, if you weren't mad at me before."

"I'm not mad at you," Johnny snapped, "and I ain't been since it happened. But you go on saying I don't know what I want when I'm sober as a judge, and it's been days since that stuff wore off, then I'm sure going to have a thing or two to say. You don't want to, that's fine, but don't say I'm stupid."

"I never said that," Bull said, but Johnny was right, he was messed up in the head, but it wasn't any worse than Bull was. "I couldn't bear it if you hated me."

"Never," Johnny promised. "I couldn't never hate you, not for helping me out when I asked, so what's the worst that could happen? We make it worse between us, and you transfer to third? You're doing that anyway."

"Worst that could happen is I could hurt you," Bull said softly.

Johnny flinched at that, but just for the blink of an eye before he made himself smile. "You usually hurt the guys you go with?"

"No," Bull said, "Least ways, I hope not, but you ain't—I don't know, Johnny. You're special."

"Damn right I am," Johnny said, and came close to smiling, but then he seemed to realise where the conversation was going and sighed. "Look, I don't want to bully you into anything. I asked, you can if you want, if you don't want, it don't change nothing."

Asking in and of itself had changed something, though, and they both knew it. "Shit," Bull muttered. "I don't know why He keeps putting temptations in on my shoulders that I ain't strong enough to carry."

"So that a yes?" Johnny asked.

"I don't know! Lemme think." Bull closed his eyes and tried to work it out. That seemed all wrong, and Bull didn't trust himself to know what was right. The next part of the Bible verse was that the Lord would always give a man a way out of temptation so that he could endure. This did not seem to Bull like a way out. It seemed like a way further down.

Only, what would it hurt? Bull had thought before that it would be easier on Johnny if he had some experience, but he'd never imagined Johnny agreeing. Now, Johnny was asking. Johnny said he wanted Bull to touch him. How many times had Bull thought about that, dreamed about it, imagined it as he touched himself? It wasn't fair of Johnny to do this to him.

The conversation had been going too fast for Bull to follow. He took a breath and imagined two paths, like he'd picture leading the boys across difficult ground. On the first path, Bull told Johnny he couldn't do it. After that, Johnny would keep spinning himself to pieces like he'd been doing. Maybe he'd even go out and try to find another soldier to do to him what Bull had refused. Maybe he'd get hurt. Or, maybe Johnny would just settle down on his own as time passed, and what happened with Bull became an unpleasant memory, one of many the war had given him.

On the second path, Bull made love to Johnny, and that either helped him like he hoped—let him slide the fragmented memories into something safer and more kind—or it would hurt him worse. It could make Johnny hate Bull, no matter what he'd promised. This could be the time that Bull got a choice in his actions, like he hadn't before, and Bull decided to hurt his best friend.

"Bull," Johnny said softly, and Bull opened his eyes, "Let me choose."

"Yeah," Bull said. He reached over and let himself touch, just the ball of his thumb to Johnny's lips. When Johnny didn't move to kiss it, he pulled back. It wasn't going to be like that, he told himself. He was helping out a friend, not enjoying himself with a lover. "But if you don't like it, you say so, and I'll quit, all right?"

"All right," Johnny agreed, but his face was set in a way that made Bull suspect that he didn't mean it. "We going to do this now?"

Bull shrugged. "I guess we may as well." His mind hadn't quite caught up with what they were doing, but his body understood. He was getting hard even just being on the same bed as Johnny, but looking down, he could see that Johnny wasn't. "Look," he said, "You just lay down on your back, and I'll take care of you."

Johnny got up, pulled off his undershirt, flipped sheets off the bed, then lay down on his back with his arms folded behind his head. "Okay," he said, and gestured down at his body with is chin, "all yours."

"Jesus," Bull muttered. He got off the bed and fished through is shaving kit until he found some cream. He didn't have a rubber, but he guessed that if Johnny had anything, Bull probably had it by now, too.

"You want me to spread my legs, or..." Johnny asked when Bull came back to the bed. He sounded like they were discussing a PT rota, but his skin was tight around his eyes, the way it was when he was hiding how afraid he was.

Bull felt his stomach tighten at the idea that he'd had anything to do with that fear, that maybe it was the hazy memory of that night that was setting Johnny off. "You don't need to do nothing," Bull tried to reassure him. "Just lie back and let me look after you."

"Okay." Johnny closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. "Can you tell me what you're doing? I... I guess hearing your voice makes it better."

"I can do that," Bull said. He leaned over and touched Johnny's bare chest. He didn't like the way Johnny's breath caught when he did that, even if Johnny was making himself lie perfectly still so that Bull wouldn't see he was afraid. "Can you say where you like to be touched?" he asked. He wished he could remember enough of that night to know how to touch Johnny like he wanted.

"If ya have to ask," Johnny replied shortly, then flashed a tight smile.

"I mean other than that." Bull rubbed his knuckles down the side of Johnny's neck, and Johnny tipped his head back to expose his throat. "Like here"—his fingertips just grazed the skin of Johnny's shoulder, but pressed a little harder as they followed the inside of his arm to the pulse point of Johnny's wrist—"Or here"—he lifted Johnny's hands to his lips and kissed the palm—"Oh here."

"You don't need to do none of that soft stuff," Johnny told him. "I ain't some broad you're trying to get wet."

Bull dropped Johnny's hand and jammed down an angry retort. How did Johnny think Bull normally treated his lovers? He supposed based on his limited exposure, he expected that Bull would just go at it, never mind the niceties. "Well, I ain't just going to pin you down and fuck you," Bull said, voice still too harsh. "I need a little help to get going: more than just some fellow spreading his legs and saying he'll have me."

"Do what you want, then," Johnny snapped, and if Bull hadn't known how scared he was, he'd have walked out right there.

"Christ in Heaven," Bull muttered. If Johnny wasn't going to play along, Bull would just have to do the work for both of them. "Fine."

Bull hooked his fingers under the edge of Johnny's shorts and pulled them down. It took a bit to get them off since Johnny didn't lift his hips to help. Bull took his own skivvies off while he was at it. If Johnny was going to have a problem seeing Bull naked and getting hard, then they might as well stop before it got difficult to do so.

Johnny's eyes flicked down Bull's body, caught on his soft cock for a moment, then looked back to his face. "I really am lucky you didn't kill me," he said.

Bull didn't want to promise that he'd never hurt Johnny, not when half his memories said to the contrary. Johnny was still completely soft. Bull stroked down his sides, and Johnny's skin twitched under his touch. This wasn't going to work.

"Johnny," Bull said, "I need you to close your eyes and think about being somewhere else."

"Bull..." Johnny started to protest, but Bull set his jaw and shook his head. "All right."

When Johnny had his eyes closed, Bull touched his hips and held them steady until Johnny seemed to get used to his hands there, then he bent and pressed his face to Johnny's stomach. He kissed the trail of hair between Johnny's bellybutton and his cock and rested there a moment to breathe in his scent. 

"Bull?" Johnny asked, voice shaking.

"Shhh," Bull hummed against his stomach. "I'm just going to make you feel good, all right, Johnny?" He nuzzled down until his lips were touching Johnny's cock and said, "You like being sucked, don't you? You want to think of that boy you knew in Ohio? You want to pretend I'm him?"

"No, I...."

Johnny didn't get a chance to say more before Bull took his slack cock in his mouth. He ran his tongue over the bottom and sucked lightly, pulling more and more of it inside him. He heard Johnny gasp and smiled to himself. That at least they could both understand. It felt good to taste Johnny, anyway, he remembered... he'd sucked Johnny off before, that night, or Johnny had fucked his throat anyway. Bull had been stroking Johnny's thighs, and had to make his hands keep moving as the thought stilled him

"You okay?" Johnny asked, and Bull hummed an affirmative, silently cursing himself.

He'd have to be more careful. More than one thing was going to bring back that kind of echo, and he couldn't let Johnny see that they bothered him. Bull had to be sure enough for both of them. He moved his hand down to stroke Johnny's balls and sucked harder. That, at least, brought some life to Johnny's cock. Bull backed up a little so he didn't choke this time, and Johnny made a little disappointed sound. He almost made Bull want to see if he could swallow Johnny down properly, or endure getting his throat fucked again. He didn't think he could and still be as gentle as Johnny needed though. He sucked down Johnny's cock as far as he could and then wrapped his fingers around the base and stroked up and down. At least Johnny wasn't a slow start. Bull had sucked off guys that took five minutes to get even this hard. Bull wrapped his lips around his teeth and drew back slowly, urging Johnny to get harder as he pulled away.

Johnny's fist pounded the mattress next to Bull's shoulder and briefly stopped breathing as he suppressed a cry. That was good. Bull could make him enjoy this much.

Now that he had Johnny hard and easy to deal with, Bull pushed his legs a little wider so that he could get at his ass. Johnny whimpered at the feel of Bull's hands on his thighs—either from fear or a memory. Bull wanted to pull up and tell Johnny it was going to be okay, or promise never to hurt him, or offer to stop, but he knew he couldn't unless Johnny asked him to. He'd promised to do this, and it was too late back out.

Bull sucked harder and ran his tongue up and down the bottom of Johnny's cock. Johnny's earlier sounds of fear and distress turned into moans of pleasure. He didn't even notice when Bull stroked his fingertip over Johnny's hole. Johnny's hips started to jump forward into Bull's mouth, like they had before, though Bull didn't... he'd been choking, Johnny's hands tight in his hair... No, he had Johnny on his back in front of him, and Bull wasn't choking, and Johnny was clutching the sheets not Bull's hair. Bull paused for a moment to catch his breath, and Johnny gasped as though he'd only now remembered that he need air in his lungs.

"Oh, God," Johnny said, and Bull wished he knew if that meant stop or go.

Bull got his fingers slick with his free hand and pushed in the next time he sucked. Johnny jerked back, trying roll away from Bull's touch, but Bull held steady, moving with Johnny as his hips rolled, trying to give him the most pleasure he possibly could. Bull held steady and kept sucking until Johnny wasn't flinching back from Bull's touch any more. Instead he started rolling his hips between Bull's finger and his mouth, not trying to twist away. When Bull bobbed his head up and down Johnny's cock. Johnny tried to push up to fill his mouth, still groaning in pleasure. He wasn't touching Bull back at all, but he wasn't trying to get away.

Johnny was spreading his legs for Bull, maybe not even knowing his own movements, so Bull pushed another finger into Johnny. He wasn't sucking too hard, not wanting Johnny to come before Bull was inside him. He didn't remember if Johnny was too sensitive to be fucked right after he'd come, and the drugs would probably have messed that up anyway. The last thing he wanted to do was make Johnny think any of this hurt.

God. Bull should just stop. He didn't know what he was doing, other than taking what he wanted again. Even if Johnny had begged him for it, Bull should have sense to say 'no.' Bull had been, all through this, the one with his head screwed on right, while Johnny had been the one to spiral out of control. Bull shouldn't have agreed just because it was what Bull had wanted to do since Toccoa.

Johnny moaned under Bull's touch. He lifted his hips to try to press into Bull's mouth, and then rode down on the fingers in his ass. Whatever memories haunted Johnny, they didn't keep him from liking what Bull was doing to him. Bull pushed his fingers in further and rubbed them up the inside of Johnny's ass until they found the spot that made him gasp and writhe under Bull's touch. He hadn't needed this coaxing before, Johnny had been so ready then that...

Bull poured more slick on his fingers and pumped them in and out of Johnny. He needed to not feel a thing as Bull took him. Johnny needed to know how good this could feel. If Bull made him feel how much he cared about Johnny and would never hurt him, how much Bull loved Johnny.

No. It wasn't going to be like that, and Bull knew it. He could imagine all he liked, but this was a favour pure and simple. Johnny was married, and for all his lack of faithfulness, he was going home to his wife if they made it through all this.

Bull closed his eyes and focused on what he was doing: his tongue rolled over the bottom of Johnny's cock, and his fingers played in and out of him, making him ready. Johnny wasn't holding back any more. He was relaxed under Bull's touch, clearly liking the pleasure it brought him. Bull could take these moments for what they were and hold the memories close for the rest of the war.

He lifted his head from Johnny's cock and said. "I'm going to hold you up now." Johnny didn't resist as Bull jammed a couple pillows under his ass. His legs were loose and relaxed, and didn't even twitch as Bull pushed them wider. He got up on his knees and paused for a moment to look down at Johnny spread out under him. Johnny's cock was hard and shiny with Bull's spit, and his inner thighs and ass were smeared with slick. With his body tilting back down the bed and his hair damp and curly, and full lips parted as he gasped for breath, Johnny looked debouched already, and Bull had hardly touched him. Bull wanted to lean down and kiss him, but he figured that fell under the soft stuff Johnny had said he didn't want, so he took his cock in his hand and lined it up with Johnny's ass.

"Now I'm gonna go slow," Bull said. "You just relax, and tell me if I do anything you don't like. I won't go no further after that." How on earth Bull was going to keep that promise, he didn't know. Just the head of his cock against Johnny's ass already felt better than anything he'd felt in years. He slicked himself up with lube and carefully pressed forward. He watched Johnny's face, seeing his eyes screw shut and his mouth tighten.

Bull didn't like that look, and he didn't like the way Johnny's breathing shallowed and shortened. He stopped with just the tip of his cock inside Johnny, and reached down and cupped the side of Johnny's face. Johnny turned towards his hand, blindly pressing his mouth against Bull's palm, he whined softly in distress, and whipped his face away.

The clench of Johnny's ass around Bull's dick was making it hard to think, but he couldn't keep going.

"Johnny," Bull said. "Johnny, listen to me. I'm hurting you, and I'm gonna stop now. Okay? I can't do this if it hurts you."

"No!" Johnny gasped. His eyes snapped open and he grabbed Bull's wrist. "I ain't hurting. It's strange, and I keep thinking of before. I ain't hurting."

Bull felt torn between what he knew was right, and what Johnny said he wanted. Johnny's ass felt so good, and he wanted to just keep pushing into him, but not like this. He wouldn't have his one memory of being together ruined by the way Johnny looked right now, the way his voice was rough and hiding pain, no matter what he said.

"I can't do it," Bull said. "This feels rotten, Johnny, and I can't. I'm sorry."

Bull pulled out and rolled off Johnny onto his back. His cock ached, and he could feel his heart pounding. His body had been ready to fuck Johnny and damn the consequences, but he didn't have the stomach for it. Bull felt like crying again, but knew he wouldn't. He didn't have anything left in him any more, just hollowness. He considered going into the bathroom and jerking off, to at least find some completion, but it was too much effort, and a part of Bull didn't think he deserved to feel good at all. He never should have agreed to any of this, and he'd only made things worse between them.

"Goddammit," Johnny hissed and rolled over on top of Bull. His knees straddled Bull's hips and his hands pressed Bull's shoulders into the bed. Bull's cock brushed Johnny's ass, which only made the whole thing worse. Bull couldn't see any level on which he was not a fool.

"I'm sorry," Bull said again. He kept his eyes fixed on Johnny's which were narrowed in anger, and didn't look down at Johnny's dick, which was still hard and brushing Bull's stomach.

"You can't just get a man started like that and then leave him half baked," Johnny snapped.

It was a fair point. "I can keep using my mouth," Bull offered. He didn't really feel like it, but at least Johnny would get the release.

"I don't need you to suck me off. I need you to fuck me." He lowered down a little so that Bull's slicked cock slid between Johnny's ass cheeks.

Bull shook his head. "I ain't like that," he said. "I can't be with someone who don't want me. Not without the drugs, anyhow."

"Jesus Christ!" Johnny snarled. He grabbed Bull's hand and put it on his own cock. It was still rock hard and slick with Bull's spit. "This feel like I don't want you?"

"Feels like you like someone's mouth on your dick," Bull said. He stroked down the length of it, Johnny's fingers entwined with his. "You like getting jerked off too?"

Johnny pulled his hand away, and Bull stopped stroking him but didn't let go. "Course I do," he said. He looked down at Bull and considered for a moment. "What if we did it like this?" he asked. "Then I could stop if I wanted."

Had he ridden Bull that night? Now that Johnny was astride him, it felt familiar. Bull wasn't sure he trusted Johnny to do what was in his own best interest, let alone Bull's, but Bull was tired of saying no, and tired of having to be the one who made the right choice. "Do what you want," he said.

"Bull," Johnny started to say, but Bull looked away, focusing on the bedpost. He felt trapped under Johnny, and he hated how much he liked that. There wasn't a lot of guys who would try to pin a man Bull's size down and just take him. He'd thought about Johnny doing this before, maybe even tying Bull down before he rode him or even fucked him. Bull didn't like to be on the bottom, usually, but he would for Johnny. It was becoming clear that there weren't a hell of a lot he wouldn't do for Johnny.

Now, Johnny was hesitating, caught by Bull's ambivalence, so Bull looked back at him and pulled his mouth into a smile. He stroked Johnny's cock again and lifted his hips to rub his cock against Johnny's ass. He wanted this anyway, and he didn't want Johnny to deal with the same kind of doubt that Bull hadn't been willing. "Come on, then," he said. "Just go slow, and it'll be all right."

Johnny leaned back a little until the head of Bull's cock lined up with his asshole again. He froze there, watching Bull's face, and Bull could still see fear in Johnny's eyes. He kept stroking Johnny's cock, trying to encourage him without rushing anything.

"You're gonna love how this feels," Bull said. "I promise you, Johnny. You never felt anything like this." He felt embarrassed at talking himself up like that, but it did seem to encourage Johnny, who closed his eyes, took a long, slow breath to settle himself, and then started to sink down.

Bull had to take his own dick in hand to make it work right, and the pressure and the angle hurt a little, but that was nothing compared to feeling Johnny slide down over him. Bull watched Johnny's expression as the head of Bull's cock slipped inside him. He frowned and his face pulled tight, but he didn't make a sound past a slow exhale of breath.

Johnny lifted up a little again, rising off of Bull until just the tip of Bull's cock was inside him, then settled. He pushed further down onto Bull this time. Johnny was biting his lip and looking so focused that he could be studying an ordinance map. Bull held his breath and tried to keep from rising up to thrust into Johnny, or taking Johnny's hips and pulling him all the way down, no matter how much he wanted to. He'd told Johnny they could take this as slow as he liked, even if it killed Bull.

Johnny arched his neck back as he sank down and Bull's cock filled him. He still had his hands on Bull's shoulders, fingers squeezing lightly as he flexed and took more of Bull inside him. Bull's bad shoulder was starting to ache again, but he'd take a hundred times worse in trade for this image of Johnny rocking back onto his dick, mouth open as he gasped in pleasure.

Johnny opened his eyes and looked down at Bull.

Their gazes met, and Bull had to remember that this was an experiment, a way of wiping out old memories and replacing them with new ones. No matter how good it felt of how much he thought he could read in Johnny's look, this wasn't the same for Johnny as it was for Bull. Johnny was normal. He had a wife he wanted to get home to.

God, his ass was tight around Bull's cock. He kept sinking down and down, and Bull didn't know what to do except stoke Johnny's dick and start talking. As Johnny's ass touched Bull's thighs, Bull told him how good he looked, how much Bull liked how he felt, how Bull wanted to make Johnny feel, if only Johnny would let him. Bull's hand was still slick from getting himself ready, and he slid back and forth over Johnny's cock. He watched Johnny's face to see which way he liked to be touched best, and he felt his touches echo through the way Johnny tensed and flexed around his cock. He liked to be stroked a little harder than Bull did, and he liked Bull playing with his foreskin, pushing it back and forth with his thumb, touching the tender places under it.

For all Bull's talking and touching, Johnny didn't say anything. He rose off Bull a little, his strong legs carrying him up, and from the way his lips parted and his eyes darkened, he liked the feel of Bull sliding out of him. He rocked his body back and forth, leaning over as he rose off Bull, and then back as he settled again. Bull felt his hips rising to meet Johnny, even though he'd meant to stay still and let Johnny to what he liked. He took a breath to steady himself, but it didn't matter. The tight heat around his cock felt too good for any control now and Bull lifted to meet Johnny as he fell, sliding deeper into him than he had before. Johnny's ass brushed Bull's balls, and Bull tried to drag the feeling out. He wished that Johnny would touch him or say something, show a sign that he wanted to be with Bull, not just to get fucked by the first person to offer.

"Johnny," Bull said, but suddenly he didn't have any other words to add, so he said Johnny's name again, then again. His voice was turning ragged at the edges as Johnny sped up, fucking himself on Bull's cock as Bull pulled him off. Each time Johnny's ass slapped against Bull's thighs, Bull said his name. He didn't know if he was begging or praying at the end, just that he wanted more and faster, and that Johnny could give it to him.

Bull felt Johnny's fingers dig into his shoulders the second before he came across Bull's stomach and chest. He groaned, but still didn't say anything, settling hard back down onto Bull's dick. Bull kept stroking him, watching Johnny's face to see what he'd feel once he was done. The pressure hadn't been quite enough to push Bull over the edge, but he wanted to ride the sensation out and finish. He wanted to flip them both over and fuck Johnny hard while he gasped and begged for more. It had been like that before, Bull thought. Johnny had begged him.

He wasn't begging, now. Johnny was sitting on Bull's lap, leaning forward too hard on Bull's shoulder, breathing hard. He'd come with Bull inside him, and that should be that. Bull wiped his hand on his own stomach and tried to think of how to get Johnny off of him so he could finish himself off. He could probably just sit up and dump him on the bed. He'd do that once Johnny got a hold of himself. For now, Bull was going to lie here and enjoy the feel of Johnny around him, and float close to the edge of coming.

Bull kept watching Johnny, waiting for him to decide he was done with this experiment, but he didn't move past straightening up a little to get his weight off his arms. The shift sent delicious pressure down Bull's cock, but still wasn't enough to bring him off. Bull spread his legs a little and tried to work out how this was going to go. He couldn't tell what Johnny wanted to do, so they both rested a moment, watching each other.

"You going to finish, or what?" Johnny finally asked.

Bull shook his head. "Need more than just a pretty boy sitting on my lap," he said. "If you shift off me, I can finish up."

"You think I'm pretty?" Johnny asked, but he caught up to the second half before Bull could answer. "Why don't you just fuck me?"

"Didn't think this was about that," Bull said. "And you have to move, or I do, anyhow."

Johnny lifted himself back up off Bull and settled down again, which made Bull moan and clench the sheets. "Oh yeah," Johnny said. "I don't know if I can keep that up now. Can't you just roll over on top of me?"

"You always want someone else to do the work," Bull said.

"I want to feel you over me," Johnny said. "That's what it was like before. I remember you holding me down."

Bull wanted to apologise again, but he didn't want a smack in the mouth, so he reached up and took hold of Johnny's shoulder with one hand and the back of his neck with the other. He flipped them onto their sides, their bodies still joined, then rolled so that he was kneeling between Johnny's legs with Johnny spread wide for him.

"Was it like that?" Bull asked. He felt the shadow of Johnny's arms around his neck as Bull's cock drove into him, but this didn't feel familiar. The bed was too soft under him, and the want wasn't urgent enough.

Johnny shook his head, but he didn't look tense or unhappy any more. Getting off had settled him out, and now he seemed content to just lie back and let Bull take him. Their faces were so close that perspiration dripping from Bull's hair fell onto Johnny's forehead. Their faces were so close they could have kissed. Bull figured that was definitely what Johnny would call 'soft stuff," and didn't close the space between them. He didn't think he'd ever kissed Johnny, not even that night, and he wanted to so badly.

The pillows that had been under Johnny's ass at the start had gotten lost, and the angle wasn't the best, but Bull took Johnny's hips in his hands and pushed back into him until their bodies lay snugly together. He took a breath to slow himself, and braced his weight on his good arm. Johnny's arms were still around Bull's neck, so Bull thought it would be all right to touch back. He cradled the side of Johnny's face, looked into his eyes and started to thrust into him.

It must have felt good, because Johnny gasped and spread his legs wider. His fingers dug into the back of Bull's neck, and he stared at Bull with wide eyes.

Bull had to shut his eyes for a moment and tell himself that this was real, not part of either a dream or a fragment of memory. He was with Johnny, and Johnny had asked him, Johnny wanted this. Bull had meant to go slow, but the sweet feel of Johnny's ass around him and the look in Johnny's eyes were too much. Bull braced himself and rocked into Johnny. His hips slapped against Johnny's thighs and, all he could think was that if it could only be this moment before the end, then he wanted to feel as much as he could. He wanted to take everything he could.

The climax built inside Bull, making his muscles tense and trails of electricity run down his skin. He felt the pressure build and build inside him. Johnny was holding tight to Bull's neck, and turning his face to kiss the inside of Bull's arm. His lips were chapped and rough against the soft skin, and Bull couldn't stand not knowing what they felt like against his own. As he drove into Johnny one last time, he dropped his head and kissed him. Johnny's face was still turned away, so Bull only caught the corner of his mouth in a gasping kiss. He didn't have the co-ordination after that to do any better. He couldn't see straight as he shot into Johnny, and his arm gave out under him.

Bull only just managed to catch himself on his elbows to keep from crushing Johnny. He gasped open mouthed against the side of Johnny's face and tried to put words to it, but all he could think was that he loved Johnny and he didn't want to give this up, so he kept quiet and tried not to ruin things. Right now, his body felt good, relaxed for the first time in weeks, his shoulder hardly hurt any more, and he had someone's arms round him. Bull felt dizzy with pleasure and let himself lie on top of Johnny and enjoy it. He expected Johnny to try push him off, but he just lay where he was, holding onto Bull and letting himself be slobbered all over.

Christ, Bull was a mess. He let himself feel Johnny for one last time then closed his eyes and rolled off of him. They lay on their backs, shoulder to shoulder, both staring up at the canopy above them until Bull got his wits about him enough to go into the bathroom and wash himself off.

He came back with a warm cloth to at least get the worst of the slick off Johnny's thighs, but by then Johnny had rolled onto Bull's side of the bed and curled in on himself with his back to the bathroom. He'd pulled the covers up until they hid everything but his hair and was pretending to sleep.

Bull wiped his face with the cloth before tossing back in the sink, then leaned against a bedpost and stared down at Johnny.

He hadn't expected quite that fast a turn around, but Bull tried to tell himself that it wasn't a surprise. Just because Johnny was working through whatever he needed to get through didn't mean that he actually wanted Bull. All he'd said at the start was that he needed real memories to replace the fragments left by the drugs. He'd trusted Bull to give them to him, and Bull had. That was the end of it, and Bull was a fool if he'd thought even for a second it would go any other way besides this.

Bull always had been a fool, especially about Johnny.


	6. Chapter 6

It occurred to Bull that maybe Johnny wasn't pretending to sleep, but was just one of those fellows who seemed to nod off right after they came. If that were the case, Bull was lucky to have gotten as much of a conversation out of Johnny as he had.

Still, Bull didn't think he could crawl back into the bed, and even though it was getting onto evening and Bull could use some dinner, he didn't want to go out by himself either.

Pushing off from the bedpost, Bull went to look for some way to kill time. He shuffled through his ruck until he found a clean pair of skivvies and a long-sleeved undershirt, and then through Johnny's until he found the book he'd been talking about.

Johnny had barely started it, the dog ear only a few pages in. From the jacket, Bull worked out that it was about a soldier in Italy, which puzzled Bull. Hadn't Johnny done enough soldiering? Did he have to read about it too? With nothing else to do, Bull sat on the floor with his back to the footboard of the bed and started to read, his finger following slowly under the words. He'd never read easily, and pouring his focus into the words helped distract him from everything that had just happened.

He'd worked through about twenty pages when Johnny groaned and called out Bull's name.

"Down here," Bull answered.

"For the love of fuck," Johnny muttered. The blankets rustled as he sat up. "You better not be sleeping down there again."

"Naw, just reading your book." Bull didn't suppose he'd have a chance to get back to it, so he set it aside unmarked.

"It any good?" Johnny asked.

"All right, I guess," Bull told him. "I like how he talks straight. Don't think the fellow who wrote it was a soldier. Not in the airborne, anyhow."

"If he was, they'd still have him running around fighting, not back home writing books," Johnny said, which Bull couldn't argue with. He tried to imagine a life not full of backbreaking work of one kind or another from dawn to dusk, but the picture didn't come easily. Maybe it'd be like liberty, but all the time. "Webster says he's going to write a book about this," Johnny added.

"Lord help us," Bull groaned. "Wonder if he'll put in about what you and me did."

"Not if he don't want us to hunt him down," Johnny said. "Kid better watch it."

"We'd better watch it too." Bull pulled his knees up tight and tried not to think about what must be going on back on the line. Winters could tell the company anything he liked, but two NCO's having sex? The men wouldn't like it.

"Yeah," Johnny said, sounding sombre. The bed creaked as he rolled out of it. Bull glanced up as Johnny walked around to the foot of the bed, naked save for his skivvies and dog tags. He looked down at Bull, his hands on his hips.

Bull looked up at him, and said nothing.

"Come up here a minute," Johnny said. "I'd sit next to you, but for some reason my ass hurts."

Bull frowned. "I didn't mean to hurt you none."

Johnny waved it off, and held his hand out to pull Bull up. Bull took it, and hauled himself to his feet. They stood, hands clasped almost chest to chest for a minute, and Bull had to order his dick to settle down again. Just because he'd gotten what he wanted with Johnny once didn't mean he could start acting up every time he was near the man. Bull didn't know if Johnny noticed his problem or not, but Bull let go of Johnny's hand and took a step back to put some room between them.

"You don't have to be so careful with me." Johnny folded his arms over his bare chest. "I'm a paratrooper, for fuck's sake. I got worse than this on manoeuvres."

"Never 'cause of me," Bull said.

Johnny shook his head and looked like he was thinking of stomping his foot. "I told Winters, and I told you, and I hope to God he listened better than you did, because I'm getting sick of having to say this: you wouldn't hurt me on purpose. I know that. You didn't have a choice before, and anything that just happened was something I asked you to do to me, and it didn't hurt me. So you can stop acting like a kicked dog around me. It drives me crazy."

Bull smiled tentatively, and said, "That ain't a long trip."

"That's more like it," Johnny replied fondly, ignoring the insult. He wasn't smiling back though. He looked tense and ready to spring away. Bull didn't have long to wonder what he was building up to, not when Johnny took a deep breath and blurted out, "The thing is, Bull, I been so wrapped up in how much I remember, or don't remember, and whose fault it is, and what that all makes me, that I ain't put much thought into how you've been getting along. Even though I'm supposed to be the one looking after you."

"Not how I see it," Bull told him. It wasn't a staff sergeant's job to look after the hurt feelings of one of his squad leaders. "Anyhow, I'm doing all right. Nothing a little time won't mend."

"Not how I see it," Johnny parroted back. He'd never been one to talk about his heart, save maybe when he was out drinking with Bill, but he was wearing the face of a man who jumped out of aeroplanes for a living, and Bull knew he was going to have to hear this out. The only other choice was running out of the room in his barefeet and skivvies, and Johnny would probably follow him even then. "How I see it," Johnny said, "Is you've been hurting pretty bad, and all I've been doing is making it worse."

"I know you ain't meant to be like that," Bull said quietly, but he had to admit that it felt good to hear Johnny say that out right.

"Doesn't mean I didn't say the things I said or treat you the way I did, and I'm sorry," Johnny told him. He toed the rug with his bare foot. The chill of the room was raising goosebumps on his skin, and Bull wanted to step in and rub the warmth into Johnny's arms. "Some days, I don't know why you put up with a shit like me. I guess you won't have to if you go to third."

Bull didn't say that he didn't want to transfer, that he was only transferring because he thought it'd make things easier for Johnny. Instead, he said, "I like you a whole lot is why I put up with you."

"You mean you're in love with me," Johnny stated with a simple brutality that took Bull's breath away, then kept rolling forward, each word laying Bull open. "It's not hard to see it now. Looking back on it, I figure you've been sniffing around my door since Toccoa."

If they were going to have this out, Bull was going to take it like a man. Instead of flinching away of denying Johnny's words like he wanted to, he nodded slowly and said, "I never planned on letting you know. It ain't nothing... it's not your fault, and I don't expect nothing of you."

"But you want something from me," Johnny said. He was glaring up at Bull, daring him to challenge the truth.

Bull sighed. It wasn't easy to put something he'd held so close to his heart for so long into words. "I used to think if I could have anything in the world," Bull said, "it'd be for you to love me back. But now I reckon I'd take back all those boys we've lost first, and then to have us all get through this war in one piece, and only after that, if God had any grace left over, well, I'd take whatever you'd give me. But that's wishing on stars, Johnny. Always knew it weren't going to be real enough to hold onto."

"Jesus, Bull," Johnny said. He'd said he'd known, but hearing Bull say it aloud seemed to take the wind out of him. Johnny leaned over to brace himself against one of the bed posts, drooping under the weight of Bull's confession. He looked beaten, and Bull didn't like it, least of all that it'd been because of something Bull had said. Before Bull could scrape up something to make the whole thing sound less selfish and awful, Johnny said in a low voice, "I wouldn't have asked you to screw me if I hadn't been too stupid to see that. Saw it while you were though. I never been with someone so damn careful."

"You keep saying I wouldn't hurt you." Bull had been trying so hard not to hurt Johnny that he must not have been keeping track of what his face gave away. All the times Bull had been studying Johnny's reactions, it seemed like Johnny had been studying Bull right back. In the end, Johnny had seen right through him.

"Yeah, but there's not hurting me, and there's treating me like it's our wedding night."

"I know it didn't mean that to you," Bull said before he realised how much that gave away, not that he'd much chance of hiding now. "What I mean is..."

"It meant that to you," Johnny finished for him.

"No," Bull protested. "It weren't like that."

"Then what was it like?"

Bull didn't know how Johnny could apologise for being an ass in one breath and then insist on skinning Bull alive with the very next. Bull had done everything Johnny had asked of him, so why couldn't Johnny just let it rest? Well, it didn't matter now, there wasn't anything worse Johnny could find out about Bull.

"It was like I said before," Bull tried to explain, "You got to hold onto the good moments when you know you ain't going to see one again for a while. Long as you were letting me touch you, I figured I might as well store some memories away against a rainy day. Could be a long while until I feel as happy as that."

"You didn't look happy," Johnny said. "You looked like I was breaking your heart."

"Naw." Bull rubbed his eyes. He felt immensely tired, but the habit of years in the army kept him on his feet, shoulders squared against the world, and anything Johnny might say. "I done that to myself."

Johnny was still leaning back against the bedpost, not quite meeting Bull's eyes. Was he ashamed of Bull? Did being loved by someone like Bull make Johnny feel less a man? Bull wished he knew."What are you going to do now?" Johnny asked.

Bull shook his head. How the hell was he supposed to know? "Keep you out of trouble for a couple more days. Go back to the line and look after my boys. Live day by day as long as I can."

"And us?"

"Johnny, there never was us, not like that. If you'll have me as a friend, I'll stay in first platoon. If not, I'll ask Winters for that transfer." He was hungry and tired and his shoulder hurt, but this had to end soon. They'd know where they stood with each other then, and that would be that. It wouldn't change much, not really. He'd just have to be more careful in sniffing around Johnny's door, as he'd put it.

"What if I don't want that?" Johnny asked.

"Well," Bull said, feeling hollowed out by the possibility that after all they'd been through, Johnny might strip even that away from Bull, "I reckon I could go over to Dog or Fox, if they'd have me. I'd rather you didn't ask me to do that, though." He wanted to fight to stay with his boys, but the reality was that if this turned nasty, and Johnny's mercurial mood flipped on Bull again, there wasn't a hell of a lot Bull could do to protect himself.

"Stupid hick," Johnny muttered, which was at least familiar ground. He stepped back to where he'd been when he pulled Bull to his feet. "What if what I want is to fucking kiss you until you stop being an idiot?"

"Oh," Bull said. Johnny was glaring up at him with enough ferocity that surely he couldn't be making fun of Bull. He tried to work out the shape of what Johnny was asking. It had to be more than just that moment, another tumble, or even more tumbles until their leave ended. Johnny must mean going on, when they were back with the company, though Bull couldn't see how. He knew it didn't mean back in the States, it couldn't. "I didn't think you were like that," Bull said cautiously.

"I didn't either," Johnny admitted, "but the way you treat me, now that I have the brains to see it, the way you try to take care of me, there ain't no one who's ever done that for me, 'cept Pat, and I'd be a damn fool to turn away from that. 'Sides, I liked being with you, liked how it felt. I've never been much for resisting temptation, you know that."

Except Pat, of course, who'd told Johnny he could do what he liked in Europe, so long as he didn't bring any of it home. Bull was reasonably sure that among the items Johnny had been instructed not to take back to Ohio were beat-up parainfantry sergeants too in love with Pat's husband. It was for the war, then, however long that lasted. Well, that wasn't something Bull had ever thought he'd be offered, and it sure wasn't something he planned to turn down. "Guess I'd like to kiss you too, then," he said.

"Good. About time." Johnny wrapped his arms around Bull's neck again and stood on his toes to kiss him. His chest rubbed against Bull's undershirt, cool even through the fabric, and Bull rubbed his hands up and down Johnny's sides to warm him.

Their lips met, Johnny's mouth open and eager from the start. Bull had to take his face between his hands to hold him steady enough to properly kiss. He wanted this to last as long as it could, maybe for the rest of his life, but Johnny was going too fast. Bull slowed his responses, sucking at the smooth inside of Johnny's lower lip, brushing his thumbs over Johnny's cheeks, trying to make a meal out of it. Johnny moaned softly under his touch. and Bull felt his chest warm with pride. He hadn't begun to show Johnny what it felt like to be looked after. There were a hundred ways that Bull could make him feel good that they hadn't gotten to yet, and could spend the rest of their leave working through.

Bull touched Johnny's lips with his tongue, and Johnny's sucked at it. It made Bull groan and pull their bodies together. He was starting to get hard again, and from the way Johnny's skin didn't feel cool any more, he wasn't the only one.

Johnny pulled back. His lips were wet and he was breathing hard just from the kiss. He didn't take his arms away from Bull's neck, but he said, "I'm starving. Let's get something to eat before we end up in bed again."

"All right," Bull agreed. "We can try a local place. I'm tired of the PX."

Johnny didn't even argue, just started to get dressed. Bull watched him and thought about how Johnny still had Bull's come inside him, and shivered in anticipation. It felt selfish to want this much, but he was going to play Johnny's attention for every second he could get out of it. Maybe Johnny would tire of him eventually, and go back to whoring with Bill, but at least by then Bull would have some real memories stored up. And while it lasted, Bull could pretend that Johnny was his, and they'd be together for years to come.

They walked down the street shoulder to shoulder, their hands only just touching, and Bull felt as though his boots hardly touched the ground. It was still early, but they found a place with a lot of servicemen and a waiter who almost spoke English.

Bull spread his napkin across his lap and looked at Johnny with open affection.

"You look like Cupid just shot you in the ass," Johnny grumbled. "I ain't Rita Hayworth."

"You are to me," Bull said. He touched Johnny's ankle with the toe of his boot.

Johnny didn't respond, but he didn't pull away either. "I've never seen you this happy," he said. "Not even..." he paused, thinking back, and Bull waited, knowing what the answer was going to be. "Not even ever," Johnny concluded.

"It's been a long time," Bull said. If this was too good to be true, he didn't care. If this was going to end with him shipping back to Arkansas alone, he didn't care. His smile had gotten Johnny to smile back at him, and his eyes were crinkling, even the one with the shiner, and Bull could hardly eat he was so happy.

They barely had the door of their billet closed before Bull started kissing Johnny again. He started taking it slow, but soon they'd left pieces of their uniforms across the floor and were back in the bed. Lying face to face, touching each other.

"Johnny?" Bull asked. "If you don't mind, I'd like to try out that soft stuff you said you didn't need."

Johnny rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. "You can do whatever you want to me," he said.

Bull's heart clenched and he didn't know what to say to that, so he kissed Johnny again. He kissed his mouth, then started to work his way down Johnny's body, touching every bit of skin that he hadn't gotten to last time.

They had all night, and Bull took his time. When Bull finally got around to fucking him, Johnny was a begging mess. Bull held their bodies close together and rocked into him from behind, whispering every bit of praise he could think of into his ear. Bull came before Johnny this time, and kept holding him as he slowly played Johnny out, bringing him to the edge and then denying him. Johnny was cursing a blue streak by the time Bull was done, but he kept alternating imprecations with kissing Bull's hand and sucking his fingers into his mouth.

When Johnny was finished, Bull held Johnny wrapped in his arms and buried his nose in Johnny's soaked hair. Their hearts were pounding, and Bull could feel Johnny's against his chest. He didn't want to say anything, because if he did, Johnny might want to move, and Bull wanted to stay inside him for as long as he could. He daydreamed happily about a few more days spent in bed, a little window on heaven in the middle of the war.

"I don't know how you do it," Johnny said, finally. He sounded half asleep again, not seeming to care that he was spread wide half under Bull. Looked like he really was the kind of guy who always napped after getting his rocks off.

"Do what?" Bull asked.

"This day by day bullshit," Johnny said. "All I can think is how soon I can get out of his hell hole and go back home. Not this, with you," he corrected when Bull took a sharp breath, "I mean this whole fucking war. All the army bullshit. The second I can go, I'm gone."

"I ain't planning to stay longer than I have to," Bull said. He kissed the back of Johnny's neck to distract himself from how much thinking about the end of this hurt. He had barely got his head wrapped around the idea that it was happening at all. "Just what I got back home... it's not like like my wife's waiting for me or nothing."

"I suppose," Johnny said, and shut up long enough that Bull wondered if he'd fallen asleep. Bull trailed his fingers absently through Johnny's chest hair, twisting it into little whorls. Johnny was warm and relaxed in his arms, and Bull felt like he'd gotten everything he'd ever wanted, even if it was only for a little while.

"It's just," Johnny started, then stopped when Bull tensed again. "It's just that I don't know how you can stand to be so easy about it all. I get something good, I hold onto it for all I'm worth."

Bull sighed softly. He'd seen that about Johnny, how hard he took things. It was why he kept the replacements at arm's length: a man could only bear having his heart broken so many times. Sometimes Bull wished he knew how to do that.

"Only way I know how to live," Bull said, because he couldn't think of how else to put it.

"Yeah," Johnny said, but he didn't sound happy about it. Thankfully, he drifted asleep not long after.

Bull held very still, trying to memorise every detail of what Johnny felt like around him.

They made love again when Johnny woke up twenty minutes later, and shared a bath after that.

"I don't know if this is what the doc meant by taking it easy," Johnny said as he washed Bull's shoulder.

"He said no fighting and no girls," Bull answered. "We're just following orders."

They were kneeling facing each other in the tub, the only way they both fit without Johnny sitting in Bull's lap—not that that wasn't a temptation—and Bull was about worn through. He leaned forward to rest his head on Johnny's shoulder and sighed in contentment. Johnny's touch was light and soothing, and Bull thought he could just about fall asleep right here. Except the water would get cold, and Bull wanted to sleep in the big soft bed with Johnny in his arms a whole lot more than he wanted to never move again.

"Hey, Bull," Johnny said. He was stroking the cloth across Bull's shoulders, touching more than washing now.

"Mmm?"

"Can I screw you? Or do you only go the other way?"

"Sure," Bull said. He wasn't always a fond of being penetrated—especially given how rough some guys could be—but if Johnny wanted to, it wouldn't be so bad. "Tomorrow though, Johnny. I don't have another round in me. Doc said..."

"Yeah yeah," Johnny told him. "Doesn't have be now." He rubbed his fingers against Bull's scalp, pressing Bull's head to his chest. "It feels better now," he said.

"What does?" Bull asked. It was hard to focus with Johnny touching him, almost soothing Bull to sleep.

Johnny's fingers stilled for a moment, then went back to massaging Bull's scalp. "What the fucking Krauts made us do, I guess. I fucking hate it. I hate them. But... when I start to get bits and pieces of that night, I think about what you and I do on our own, you know? It's not so bad with the good memories too."

"I'm glad," Bull said. He touched Johnny's back carefully, and when he didn't flinch away, wrapped his arms around Johnny and held him. "I can't stand seeing you hurting, Johnny."

When the bath started to get cold, Johnny shrugged out of Bull's hold and stood. Bull watched the water streaming off his lean body, and thought about sucking him off. Johnny's cock was about the right spot if Bull stayed where he was. They hadn't properly done that yet. Maybe Johnny would like to try doing each other at the same time.

Bull stroked down Johnny's thigh and started to lean in, but Johnny laughed and pushed his head away. "I don't got another round in me either, buddy. You're wearing me out."

"Good," Bull said. He wanted Johnny happy and exhausted and all to himself. If they only had a few days, he was going to make the most of them. Once they were back on the line, they'd have to be careful, and who knew how many private moments they'd have. Then, Johnny might take a more sober look at the risks, or reconsidered his life generally, or saw a pretty pair of legs in a skirt, and that would be the end of whatever this was.

Bull pushed the gloomy thought away and focused on drying Johnny off. He got to touch right now, and that was going to be enough. He kissed Johnny lightly because he could, and that almost got something started again, but they really were too tired.

It turned out that Johnny liked to cuddle as much as Bull liked to hold him, and he buried his face in Bull's chest and lay sprawled half on top of him as they started to drift to sleep. Bull waited until he was sure Johnny was out cold before he kissed his hair and told him he loved him.

* * *

Bull wanted to stay in bed all the next day, but Johnny said they really did have to go out for food, and that they might as well look around a bit, since they'd come all this way, and when would they get a chance to see Brussels again?

"If we come back here after chow, I'll let you fuck me," Bull countered.

"You know I never really liked this city," Johnny said.

It went like that for the next two days: tumbling into bed together, eating occasionally, not talking much about anything that mattered. In his heart, Bull knew it was too good to last, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Johnny took to being with another man repeatedly and enthusiastically, leaning his way around Bull's body same as he learned to put together an MG 50. He seemed to like riding Bull best, like he had the first time, saying it let Bull go easy on his wound. Maybe that even worked; Bull's shoulder seemed to have almost mended by the day they packed up.

They spent the hours before dawn getting in one last, long fuck, and Bull tried to memorise every second of it.

Johnny left extra money for the landlady on their way out, and she smiled at them like she either didn't know what they'd been doing locked in their room half the time, or didn't care.

They ended up in the back of another supply truck headed up for the line, this one part of a convoy, and full of bundles of uniforms and blankets.

"Least this is more comfortable," Bull said. He'd stretched out on his stomach across several bales of olive drab wool, and was considering sleeping the rest of the way. The liberty had improved his energy, but he'd never turned down the chance to nap when he could get it. "Though the jeep ride wasn't so bad. Always wondered about that captain."

"Mmm..." Johnny said. He'd gotten a clipboard from the driver and was trying to write a letter home between potholes. The rough road wasn't doing his already crummy handwriting any favours.

Bull rolled to his side so he could watch Johnny properly. He was going to need to work on not being so obvious once they got back to Easy, but for now he got to look, and he was going to enjoy it. Johnny was all spruced up, with his service uniform trim as could be and his hair slicked down neat under his garrison cap. He chewed his lower lip as he wrote, focusing on getting the words just right.

"What're you writing about?" Bull asked, unable to resist poking that bruise, even if he knew it was going to hurt.

Johnny capped his pen and looked up. "Just stupid shit, how the guys are doing, bad chow. Whatever's funny and'll get past the censors. She worries, you know?"

Bull almost said he didn't, but he knew how sulky that would sound. He didn't write to anyone. He didn't have a serious lover waiting for him in Michigan, and his ma'd never learned to read, so there didn't seem to be much point. "You ever write anything about me?"

Johnny snorted. "'Dear Mr. Army Mail Censor: I'm fucking my squad sergeant. Please give me a blue ticket out of his hell hole, 'cause I don't wanna fight no more.'"

It wasn't really funny, but Bull couldn't help laughing anyway. "Guess not, huh?"

Johnny reached over and tried to swat Bull with the clipboard, but Bull rolled out of the way. "Nah, I said we got a few days in Brussels, but didn't see too much. Told her last letter her how you hurt your shoulder, and I'd been worried sick, but that you was okay now."

That was a lot more than Bull would have thought Johnny would put into one of his letters. It was oddly comforting to think that he was something to write home about.

"Christ, you had me scared to death that night," Johnny said, drifting back to the fight in Nuenen. "Kept thinking, 'what the fuck am I going to do without him?' Couldn't come up with an answer."

Bull almost felt like apologising for getting blown up and stuck behind enemy lines, but underneath that was another glow of satisfaction, a proof that Johnny cared. Bull had always known that he did, of course he had, but it still felt good to hear it.

"Felt the same way that first day in Normandy," Bull said, though he didn't like to think back to that night, how terrified he'd been, spending hours hunting through the dark for a single familiar face, not knowing if Johnny's plane had been one of the one's falling from the sky in flames. He'd fought with the All Americans for the first day, until he'd been able to hook up with Easy again. He'd never figured he'd spend so much of the war scared and alone.

Johnny tucked the clipboard under his arm and reached out to Bull, who took his hand and squeezed lightly. The touch was so familiar now. Bull now knew for sure what every scrap of Johnny's skin felt like, and what it felt like to have Johnny touching him all over. The echoes of that awful, frenzied night in the barn had faded into the faintest shadows, buried under a cascade of new memories, happy memories. Now more than ever, Bull couldn't look at Johnny without feeling his heart leap just a little.

"We're going to have to cool it once we're back on the line," Bull said, thinking ahead.

"You don't say!" Johnny commented sarcastically, but he didn't let go of Bull's hand. "We better wait until we get leave again."

"Yeah. Guess so." Bull didn't like to think how long that might be. He didn't know if he was ready to face the war again. He'd never done this: going from liberty straight into combat. There'd always been those weeks of preparation before they jumped. They'd always built each other up and gone in together.

"Hey, I don't like it either," Johnny told him, and Bull took some comfort in that. He knew he was being childish, but he wanted their stay in that fairytale room to have lasted forever. So much for taking each day as it came.

"You really wannna keep this up?" Bull asked, despite every good intention to keep from sounding needy.

"Course I do," Johnny said. He hopped off his bail of uniforms and tried to cross over to Bull, but the truck hit what felt like a shell crater just as he found his feet. Johnny pitched forward, and Bull caught him before he could fall between the stacks of bales. It was an awkward half embrace where Bull had both of Johnny's shoulders, and Johnny had one arm looped around Bull's neck as he half crouched half sprawled across the stack Bull was lying on. Johnny sighed and bounced his forehead off the bale. Then he looked up at Bull, grey eyes almost too close to see clearly, tightened his arm around Bull's neck. "I told you, I got a good thing going, I hang onto it for all I'm worth."

Bull felt his heart clench, and he couldn't speak, but he nodded slightly. The back of the truck had canvas pinned down across it, and Bull risked a quick kiss against Johnny's neck. "You're worth a lot to me," he said. He had too much emotion in his voice, but it wasn't like Johnny didn't know how Bull felt.

"You gotta stop sweet talking me," Johnny told him. He pulled back enough to smile at Bull, and Bull grinned back. He didn't seem to be able to stop himself. It was like being hit on the knee: smile when Johnny smiled. "One of these days, it's gonna go to my head."

"Shit, Johnny," Bull answered, "I can't think who'd notice if it did."

Johnny actually did kiss Bull on the lips, like he usually did when he couldn't think of a retort fast enough and wanted to shut Bull up. It was going pretty well until the truck hit another canyon, jolting them apart.

"Serves us right," Bull said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "We said this morning was the last time."

"Yeah." Johnny sighed and went back to his own spot. He picked up his letter again, and Bull rolled over so his back was turned and started on that nap.

* * *

They got back to Second Battalion with two hours to spare, which was good because the first thing they found out was that Captain Winters had moved up to staff, Moose Heyliger was their new company commander, and everything was in a different place than when they'd left.

Bull and Johnny exchanged a glance and silently decided to find Winters first.

The man did not look happy to be behind a desk, but he smiled when he saw them, his face warming.

"You boys alright?"

Johnny shifted to stand at ease, and Bull followed him. "Couldn't be better, sir," Johnny said.

Winters nodded, shoulders dropping a bit, apparently relieved that he was not going to be expected to sort out some sexual crisis building between his NCOs. "Good, that's good," he said. He glanced over his desk, reflexively looking for a some report or other, before looking up at them again. "Seems like I there was an error in your passes. The file copy said that you were in Paris for fourteen days."

"That so, sir?" Bull asked. He had a feeling that Winters had enjoyed giving G2 the runaround. "Sir, did anyone else get hit? Like we was?"

"Not in Second," Winters said, and Bull almost sighed in relief, "But a patrol from I Company got hit two days ago. One of them... uh... well, the docs think he had a heart attack. The other two were okay, but they've gone to London now."

Johnny and Bull exchanged a glance, and Johnny's words about Bull letting him jerk off until he died hovered between them, unspoken. "I'm sorry to hear that, sir," Johnny said.

Winters nodded, just a dip of his head. "You boys had better report to Lieutenant Heyliger. There's an operation coming up."

They exchanged salutes, and Bull didn't say a word as they trooped back down to the courtyard under Battalion HQ. Once they were in clear air, they stopped and looked at each other, and Johnny muttered, "Shit," with quiet ferocity. Bull just nodded.

"Hey!" Bill's voice rang through the courtyard like a cathedral bell, "Look who's back! I'll be damned if it ain't the love birds."

"Shit," Johnny said again, and started to laugh, then made a half-hearted attempt to shove Bill off as he threw his arms around their shoulders and pulled them both into a sideways hug at once. Bull didn't bother. It was good to be back after all.

Later, as they were putting on greasepaint and preparing for their run across the Rhine, Johnny leaned over to Bull and ran his burnt cork over Bull's jawline. "Ya missed a spot," he said. He took Bull's chin and tipped his head back and forth before concluding that he'd gotten it all and dropping back to working on his own face.

Bull nodded thanks and kept checking his M1. He liked the security of having a rifle in his hands again. No matter what had changed, Bull knew the slide and click of the steel parts, the sharp smell of gun oil better than his own hands.

"You two—" Hoobler started to ask, and fell silent as the grave when Johnny glared at him.

"Better think on that before you say anything," Bull added.

"Right. Sorry."

Bull didn't have to look over at Johnny to know that he was smiling faintly in satisfaction. Right from the beginning, it'd felt like they could communicate with just a word or a glance, but that bond was tighter now. Bull had wondered how he'd be able to give up getting to make love to Johnny whenever he wanted, but so far it'd been easier than he'd thought it would be. It did hurt having to remind himself not to reach out, or to smile too fondly, or to say anything compromising, but he knew that Johnny knew Bull wanted to, and he was pretty sure Johnny wanted to right back. That was starting to feel like it'd be enough to carry Bull through to the next chance they got.

Day by day, Bull had said, but Johnny had replied that he'd hold on tight to what he loved.

Bull had a feeling it would work out somewhere in the middle. Until it did, he'd do his best to keep them all alive.

Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Bull moved through his squad, double checking the boys' gear and patting the shoulders of the replacements. They were nervous, but had been practising for this mission all day. Even before Bull checked, everything was as it should be.


End file.
